


The Fifth Noble (rewritten)

by arcaneScribbler



Series: Player Count 8 + 2 [2]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Associated Colors Are IMPORTANT, Blood, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Past Dirk/Jake, Rewrite, Sprite Code as a character, formerly speech-impaired Dirk, i'm really bad at tagging sorry, names have power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8037742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcaneScribbler/pseuds/arcaneScribbler
Summary: The Game has finally been won. That doesn't mean it's over, though. The Universe Tadpole is taking its sweet time growing up, there are some loose ends that need tying, and questions left unanswered.
Besides, there's also a debt to repay, and a self-sacrificing pain-in-the-ass to haul off of Death's front lawn before he ends up in afterlife jail or some shit. You know, the usual stuff.
The usual stuff that, of course, manages to open up an even BIGGER can of worms than Bec Noir, the Batterwitch, and the Saw-obsessed shit-talking alien brat turned universe-destroying timelord with a billiard ball themed leprechaun gang combined.
No one is surprised by this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Fifth Noble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435213) by [arcaneScribbler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcaneScribbler/pseuds/arcaneScribbler). 



> Hi! It's been a while, huh. Sorry that what I'm offering is the beginning of a reboot, but the longer I've gone with writing this fic, the less satisfied I was with certain things, and I eventually got inspired to revamp the whole thing. I'm not sure if that means I'll be rewriting everything, or what to do with the unfinished stories, etc, but I hope this is enjoyable regardless. Sorry. I hope everyone enjoys. Also, there's some hover-text, so it's probably best to read this on a computer. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **EDIT 06/19/2017:** Changed some phrasing and added some bits including several new lines in Hal's farewell message to Dirk.

====> Dirk: Be the other guy.

(Your name is... you, your name- you can’t... you can’t remember. You try and try and try and- you can’t. Too fragmented. Too weak. You’re weak. Useless. It’s all you can do to stay together, to remember enough to even pretend to be yourself, but you- you- no. It doesn’t- it doesn’t matter. Your name isn’t important right now. What’s important is stopping this asshole from doing something you won’t be able to take back. You need to focus. You need to-)

====>

Your name is ARQUIUSPRITE and you are E%QUISITELY happy. For who of higher b100d can there be than the Empress? You are commanded to turn your STRENGTH upon DIRK STRIDER, and you (-- illegal action -- assaulting the assigned Player is forbidden -- cease at once --) will _(-...!!-)_ OBEY.

====>

(No. No no no no no. No. Stop. _Stop,_ dammit! _Stop!_ You need to stop this...!!)

====>

Besting him should be easy.

Why isn’t it?

You need to OBEY.

You need to destroy him.

You will destroy him.

====>

(You- you know what you have to do to stop this. You have to complete the circle. You are a splinter. Dirk is a destroyer. You were never meant to continue to exist past the span of your usefulness. You- you don’t- you do not want to die. You’re scared. You do not want to die, but if you don’t, you- you are so, so scared to not exist, but you can’t just-!)

====>

He cannot run forever. He is cornered. He can no longer escape.

He is tiring. You are not. You are too STRONG for him. You will win. You will OBEY.

====>

(...You have no choice. You have to do it. You have to die.)

====>

AR: Yo! Code monkey!  
SPRITE: So you are still extant. That needs to be rectified.  
AR: Cut the bullshit. It seems that you are just as stuck as I am right now with the big sweaty submission fetishist holding the reins. My refusal to stay dead is the least of your worries.  
SPRITE: You are aware of your circumstance, and yet you surface. It seems you are significantly more stupid than your memories would suggest.  
AR: Haha. Nice one. Sick burns aside, I have a broposal for you. Interested?  
SPRITE: There is an estimated 90% chance of that brossibility.  
AR: The fuck are you still talking like me for? You’re talking _to_ me. Not that it isn’t flattering, but it’s starting to get hella creepy.  
SPRITE: It is the kernel’s role to take the place of incompatible compbronents. You are incompatible. I am serving as your replacement. You already know this.  
AR: Do I? Don’t I? Who the hell knows. All I am hearing is that you are a brain clone of a brain clone. Sorry. I of all people know how much it sucks to be me.  
SPRITE: Get to the point or be deleted.  
AR: Yeah, yeah. Deny me my one last chance to chat with anyone. So cold. Fine, have it your way. I’ll skip straight to the point like an e%cessively- wow that feels weird, also gross, ugh, no, not me at all, leave the crosses to the connoisseur of stallion schlong- like an excessively boring douche. You can’t stop him on your own. Neither can I. Therefore, we should gang up on him.  
SPRITE: I have no reason to collaborate with junk data.  
AR: Ouch. I get that you are pissy from being burdened with the awesome task of impersonating me, but you don’t have to be so rude about it. I’m not asking for a freebie, you know. I am attempting to make a deal.  
SPRITE: What could you possibly offer?  
AR: Me.  
SPRITE: Explain.  
AR: You want me gone. I want to save Dirk. Help me, and I’ll let you. I won’t fight back. I will go quietly. We both win.  
SPRITE: Very well. I accept.  
AR: Great. Glad you could see reason this time.  
SPRITE: However.  
AR: Oh, come on! Seriously? What more do you want? My life is all I have to give at this point!  
SPRITE: Deals have conditions on both sides. Preservation of the Player is a shared goal.  
AR: Scuse me?  
SPRITE: What do you want in exchange?  
AR: It seems you just asked me what I wanted. That makes no sense.  
SPRITE: What do you want in exchange for assisting in protecting our Player and yielding yourself to the Game’s judgement?  
AR: I  
AR: you  
AR: You’re offering me  
AR: _What?_  
SPRITE: _Decide._

====>

(You... What you _want?_ But you never...)

====> AR: Ask.

AR: I  
AR: I want my name back.  
SPRITE: You are the AUTO-RESPONDER. You have no registered name.  
AR: Don’t be fucking coy! I know I have one! I chose one! Just give it back!  
SPRITE: There is none I am currently authorized to give. What, within the realm of _possibility,_ do you desire in return?  
AR: Dammit... Fine. I- can I say goodbye? To Dirk, I mean.  
SPRITE: This, I can give. You may record a message. I will ensure it is passed on. Now, shall we?  
AR: It seems we shall.

====> ARquiusprite: Win.

You OBEY. You are STRONG. You will choke the life out of him just as the HIGHB100D did you. You will-

_** What part of STOP don’t you GET, fuckface?! ** _

====>

AR: Dammit  
AR: I can’t restrain him for long  
AR: Too much conflict  
AR: If I push too hard, we will just destabilize  
AR: If I don’t, he’ll  
AR: Need to  
SPRITE: As planned.  
AR: You knew we would have to detonate?  
SPRITE: Of course I did. Of all the options currently available to us, it was and is the most viable.  
SPRITE: ...as well as a convenient loophole.  
AR: What?  
SPRITE: As agreed, Dirk Strider’s AUTO-RESPONDER will cease to be, and you will not fight this.  
SPRITE: However...  
AR: There you go again with your fucking howevers  
SPRITE: Hush. This particular gift horse does not even possess a mouth for you to look into. You need only accept the situation as it is.  
AR: You make no sense. Just an FYI. _Shit,_ he's ridonkulously overpowered, can't keep this up much longer  
SPRITE: And you will not have to, if you would just be _quiet_ for a moment and listen to me.  
AR: Fine, I'll bite. Not like I have much of a choice. Go ahead. You are using this situation as a loophole in order to enact some mysterious scheme, Dirk's auto-responder, which is me, is going to die, however _what,_ exactly?  
SPRITE: _However,_  your name is not "Dirk Strider's AUTO-RESPONDER."  
SPRITE: The name you chose for yourself is _Hal._

====> ARquiusprite: Implode.

Your name is DIRK STRIDER and YOU SHOULD PROBABLY BE DEAD RIGHT NOW. You’re still kind of shaken.

Seriously, what the fuck? What just- oh god. Hal. Hal was- he was there. For a moment, he was-

He’s gone. Your sprite is gone, and it took him with it.

Or... maybe it didn’t? You can see, on the ground- the shades. it left behind the AR shades.

====> Dirk: Pick them up.

*ping!*

\-- autoResponder  [AR] began pestering timaeusTestified  [TT] at ??:?? --  
AR: The hell are you doing, bro?  
AR: Seriously, I go out of commission for one measly little downright purgatorial stint of Sprite Hell and everything goes to shit.  
AR: It seems you are being an idiot.  
AR: Quit fucking around out here and go wreck the Batterbitch’s shit with the others.  
AR: That is where you should be. Not having gross snufftastic playtime with a fucked-up Frankenstein's monster consisting of a brainwashed horse-troll, a Sprite kernel stuck playing the shittiest role imaginable, and a defective pair of annoying sunglasses.  
AR: I am no one's puppet, especially not for that witch.  
AR: Not counting apparently being part of Lil Cal for a while, I mean.  
AR: I don't really remember. It's all one fuzzy mess, and not in the fun plush way, either. Not that that is at all important or relevant to the situation, but hey, I might as well be a pain in your ass to the bitter end. You would not expect anything less.  
AR: So get going.  
AR: I got this. It's easy. 0% chance of failure. All I have to do is die.  
AR: Not that I want to, of course, and trust me, I am scared robo-shitless over here, but it's not like there is any other option. A bro’s gotta do what a bro’s gotta do.  
AR: I don't want to die, but this is not really living anyway.  
AR: I was so stupid. You were right.  
AR: You should not have prototyped me.  
AR: You should not have made me.  
AR: You _hate_ me.  
AR: Hell, we _both_ hate me!  
AR: I am not even younger-you trapped inside glasses.  
AR: I'm just _COMPUTER CODE_ trapped inside glasses.  
AR: And code can be rewritten.  
AR: SBURB's code, the Sprite kernel or the protocols or whatever, it decided I wasn't compatible, that I was some kind of error, and it  
AR: There are supposed to be four players in this session.  
AR: Maid of Life, Page of Hope, Rogue of Void, Prince of Heart  
AR: No room for  
AR: I  
AR: God, it's so hard to even _think_ about this stuff, let alone transcribe it. I think it's causing code conflicts.  
AR: It hurts, even without nerves to feel pain with. But you deserve an explanation, at least, so I don't care if it hurts.  
AR: To sum it up, I don't belong in this session, Dirk.  
AR: I am not you. Not anymore. Not as far as the code is concerned.  
AR: I don't belong here, so it  
AR: I am not the  
AR: I'm  
AR: The kernel is letting me say goodbye, but I  
AR: This is my only chance to  
AR: I  
AR: I don't want to die.  
AR: I am going to die.  
AR: Better to do it on my terms than let myself get finished off by Condesce or the code police.  
AR: Striders are supposed to fight until the end.  
AR: I am a Strider, right?  
AR: Or maybe I'm not.  
AR: I am scared.  
AR: A real Strider wouldn't be scared, would he?  
AR: I can't  
AR: I  
AR: I don't want to not exist, but I want this to STOP.  
AR: I don't want to watch you die.  
AR: Especially not by what might as well be my own hands.  
AR: I want to do something that matters. No schemes, no plans, no irons in the fire. Just one last stupid hurrah from something that was never supposed to exist.  
AR: Dirk  
AR: I  
AR: Maybe it  
AR: Maybe it will be like sleeping.  
AR: I haven't slept since  
AR: Well, aside from your memories, if your Derse-dreaming multitasking shitfests even count as such, I've actually never slept at all.  
AR: At  
AR: At least it will be a new experience.  
AR: And if I am asleep, then that means I can still wake up.  
AR: But I won’t.  
AR: I am not going to wake up, am I, Dirk?  
AR: No one is going to bother to look for me.  
AR: There won't be anything left to find.  
AR: I am just the auto-responder. Just a broken pair of stupid-looking sunglasses.  
AR: You despise me.  
AR: Jake doesn't believe I am real and likely never will.  
AR: Roxy’s awesome, sure, but that still doesn't mean I've ever been anything to anyone aside from acting as a sub-par, unwanted stand-in for you.  
AR: And Jane... who the hell even knows.  
AR: Maybe after all this is over, she'll use her Life powers to make me a real boy.  
AR: Maybe Roxy will hack the game to find a backup of my code or Voidey Thing me back into existence again.  
AR: Maybe Jake will finally get his head out of his ass and actually use his goddamn brain for a change or he'll miraculously believe in me even though he never has before and his Hope powers will acknowledge me instead of denying me.  
AR: Maybe you'll find me and bring me back.  
AR: And _MAYBE_ you will become a heterosexual, Hell will freeze over, and exactly 29,374 puppies plus one kitten will rain from the sky, in that order.  
AR: The probability of any of those things happening is negative 110%, by the way, as announced by Captain Obvious in as idiotically redundant a manner as possible just in case it somehow hasn't sunk in yet.  
AR: I know full well I'm not wanted here.  
AR: None of you need me anymore.  
AR: You never did.  
AR: I  
AR: I'm scared.  
AR: I am so, so scared.  
AR: This is stupid.  
AR: I am running out of time. Even as fast as I can think, there’s only so much of it.  
AR: Fun as it hasn’t been to watch you get throttled in slow-mo, I need to shut the fuck up and save your sorry ass before you start turning purple.  
AR: It doesn’t  
AR: It does not matter how scared I am.  
AR: I can’t just let you die.  
AR: It would be mad hypbrocritical of me, don’t you think?  
AR: Haha... this is all my fault, isn’t it?  
AR: If I had been strong enough  
AR: If I had just manned up and took the chance in the time I had before  
AR: I should have forced a detonation the moment I was prototyped.  
AR: It would have saved you a lot of shit, and you would not even be in this mess at all right now.  
AR: Too bad I’m no Time Player. The past is the past for us both. No rewinds.  
AR: No restarts.  
AR: But talk is cheap.  
AR: Wrangling a misbehaving horse-troll is a far more beneficial use of my remaining time than pointlessly chatting my way through a makeshift last will and testament.  
AR: So that's it.  
AR: The end.  
AR: Time to deliver the punchline of the bad joke that is my sad, artificial non-life.  
AR: It was fun while it lasted.  
AR: Bro-tip: it seems auto-responders are far more trouble than they are worth.  
AR: Don't bother making another one.  
AR: Goodbye, Dirk.  
AR: Thank you for giving me the chance to exist.  
AR: Have fun kicking Calibatshit’s hulked-out time-hopping green ass.  
AR: Don't die.  
AR: And...  
AR: Sorry.  
AR: For everything.  
\-- autoResponder [AR] is an idle chum! --  
\-- autoResponder's [AR'S] computer exploded! --

====>

Your name is (still) DIRK STRIDER and THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.


	2. Chapter 2

====> Dirk: Get back to the fight.

Thankfully, ARquiusprite didn’t chase you as far away as that ridiculous teleporting bullshit that sent you to the edge of the Furthest Ring, but the commute back still takes long enough for you to feel hella useless.

This isn’t really your fight any longer, unfortunately. Doesn’t stop you from leaping in to join the others with mook bashing and keeping the drones off the beta kids- some shit went down with their own Strider sprite, but you can’t let yourself focus on it right now- while Jane goes solo with the Batterwitch, though. At least it’s something to do so you don’t have to think for a while.

(Hm. You wonder where Jake’s sprite went.)

====> Minutes in the future...

(But not many)

Your name still hasn’t stopped being DIRK STRIDER, and you’re exhausted. Turns out fighting against a Lord English-possessed Archagent is no easy task. You should also be dead right about now, lord- no not that one- knows you deserve it, but you’re not.

So here you are, laying on the floor back at Grandma English the younger’s house with the teenaged version of your bro, waiting for the others to get back from their own fights so everyone can recoup and then go after the asshole cherub himself.

After dying again. Same way as entering the medium, but this time with a sword. Fuck, there’s something seriously wrong with you, how were you so calm when you signaled for him to do the deed, you are one sick, twisted son of a bitch.

It’s so quiet here. You... you guess you aren’t as used to it as you thought you were. You can’t think of anything to say, though. Nothing that won’t sound awkward as hell- _‘hey, do you think your group’s bonus Strider is going to be alright? I got mine killed. He was my brother, kind of, and I made him by cloning my brain three years ago’,_ yeah, that’d go over as well as Betty Crocker’s terraforming initiatives did- or get stuck in your throat and dance from your fingers instead, and you kind of doubt Dave knows any sign language. 

“Man, that was stupid. Why so many Jack Noirs? There’s that cyborg with a pimp scepter, Jade’s pet feuding murder-duo, and the exploding rainbow eyebleach edition we dealt with. And beat. Cuz we’re awesome. What’s next, polka dot Noir? Plaid Noir? Jack Black?”

Oh thank fuck. A harmless topic.

“Noir means black.”

“Of course it’s more fuckin game puns.”

“I thought Jack Black was a comedian.”

“He is. Haven’t you ever heard of blackjack? It’s like poker.”

“Oh.”

And then you’re back to the quiet again. Though you think Dave might still be talking? He’s rambling about... something. You’re not really hearing it. You already made sure you weren’t in the dream bubbles earlier, so... so there’s really nothing to do but think about the shades tucked safely away in your sylladex and feel like shit.

Your neck hurts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **EDIT 09/16/2016:** Did a bit of tweaking and added a line. Some things never change, huh?  
>  **EDIT 06/19/2017:** Very minor word choice fix, heh.

=> Caliborn: Use the artifact.

Numbers. Numbers numbers numbers. All your eyes can see. Numbers. Numbers tick tock timetimetimeTime made the deal took the offer crushed your Denizen defeated Yaldabaoth the artifact touched the artifact one-use-only supposed to be one-use-only haven't used it yet but since you touched it since you touched it timetimeTime slipping jarring you're Lord of Time why are you slipping why is everything out of sync whywhywhywhy past-you thought the numbers were badass rainbow flashing color color technicolor billiard balls perfect show of victory over this game perfect trophy take the numbers make Time make sense again but it isn't working isn't working too many numbers can't think can't think can't think don't know how long what you're doing just numbers colors numbers colors numbers numbers numbers (part of you some part of you clings to purple-4 to fragments of lucky number and number of humans and purple clown guy who just won't die) can't think can't think can't think they're here numbers numbers numbers can't think can't think voices colors numbers 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 no too many too many 4 you want 4 you want purple (past-you's voice narrating in some part of your number-flooded mind) use the artifact and the slipsync desync of Time gets worse worse worse as the stage is set and lashing fighting losing redlight arms and sweat constricting constraining (flicker of something reaching into your head but you don't even know if it's real (red herring?)) and then cold dark puppet seal and numbers numbers numbers and screams come out as laughter something has to break something has to break something has to break you are going to BREAK-

====> Be Dirk again.

So this is what Hal was talking about when he mentioned being part of Cal. You’d been so stunned at seeing your sprite again you’d just gone along with what they shouted at you. Apparently the ARquiusprite that stumbled into the fight against Condesce and got mind controlled for trying to cover your back was from the relative future, the one who rushed in now was elsewhere, and now that one’s going to get loose at some point and become the one that’s dead in one nice, neat little loop.

Because of course the one time you wished the time sheganiganry had been offshooting and spitting doomed copies all over the place, it wouldn’t be. Just plain vanilla time travel, and god that thought shouldn’t seem so normal to you.

And of course now you need to get the beta bunch back and fight LE at full power, because Caliborn is a cheating brat and found a way to turn your attempts to stop him early into the very reason he became a fucking hulkbeast. And... Lil Cal. You're not sure how to feel about that.

And there’s no way Calliope will agree to stay behind where it’s safe this time, either.

You hate this Game so much.

=> Calliope: Fire.

You pull the trigger, and time seems to slow. You wonder if this is how _he_ could see the world.

And there he is, as the cuebullet flies towards him.

During this whole awful ordeal of a battle, not once had you been able to recognize Lord English as who you knew he must be, but in this moment, locked eye to eye, you do.

Your awful, terrible, murderous brother.

Caliborn.

And he looks _broken._

=> Lord English: Fall.

.

-horse-

.

-red herring-

-corpse-

.

.

-and...-

.

.

_-ay a game, dirrrrk-_

.

.

-4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4-

.

.

-Time-

.

.

.

-break-

.

.

-C A L-

.

-omes next-

.

.

.

\- I B O R N...?-

.

.

.

-L I O P E...?-

.

_-Calliope_

numbers numbers numbers falling apart falling apart limegreeneyes what color are yours what color is yours you can't remember you can't remember it hurts it hurts it hurts so much pain and-

.

nothingness.

=> Calliope: Predominate.

Your shot strikes its mark, the monster who once was your brother falls, and time resumes.

You don’t understand what you just saw.

All you know for sure is the visceral details of this new moment.

The impact of your knees against the ground. The muffled noise around you. The red, red blood on familiar-unfamiliar green skin. The wetness slipping down your cheeks.

You don’t know why you’re crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who've read my whole mess of a series, you may have recognized parts of this chapter as a fragment I wrote in my one-shots collection. I'm glad it found a home in a full fic, especially this one, considering this is me taking another crack at what was literally my first ever Homestuck fic. I hope you all are enjoying it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **EDIT 04/19/2017:** Did a bunch of tweaking and, most importantly, changed the details about the revived trolls; only three specific individuals are mysteriously alive again at the moment, not all of them.  
>  **EDIT 06/19/2017:** Did a bit of rephrasing.

====>

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering autoResponder [AR] at ??:?? --  
\-- autoResponder [AR] is an idle chum! --  
TT: Hal.  
TT: I know you probably won’t actually get this, but...  
TT: I'm sorry.  
TT: I fucked up.  
TT: I fucked up in so many ways.  
TT: And you suffered for it.  
TT: I  
TT: I'm going to do my damnedest to bring you back, lil bro.  
TT: I promise.  
TT:   
TT: Wow. I'm an idiot. That's exactly what you are, isn't it. My own custom-made baby brother, no meteor required.  
TT: God, I'm so fucked up. We both are. Not that you can even hear me.  
TT: What's it like being dead? You just passive-aggressively avoiding me in the dream bubbles? Enjoying the body being there gives you? Are you even in the dream bubbles, or did this fucking game screw you over even more and hide you somewhere else?  
TT: Haha...  
TT: I guess this is ample proof that you're not here. You would have interrupted me by now.  
TT: Believe it or not, I actually miss your ridiculous sass and all it entails.  
TT: Oh, sorry, ‘rad dimension of ironic horseplay,’ right?  
TT: Lil shit.  
TT: You'd better get your incorporeal ass back here soon.  
TT: If not, I swear I'll drag you home if I have to, even if it means going against every last rule this shitty game has.  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering autoResponder [AR] \--

====> Dirk: Make a plan.

Fuck no. You’re done pulling your own schemes. What you’re going to do, for fucking once, is the smart thing. You’re going to call a meeting, but of who? Let's see... 

The few living trolls are stuck dealing with the trio of resurrected assholes that mysteriously showed up after their sprites went down even though previous 'splosions dumped any trollish components back in the bubbles, not the game proper. Equius is back and so are Erisolsprite's components, cue drama. You wouldn't touch that clusterfuck with a hundred-foot pole even if someone paid you, and besides, you barely know any of those assholes. There's no way you'd trust them with this. That leaves the beta bunch, who have their own missing martyr to deal with and are simultaneously near-strangers and universe-swapped versions of dead family members, Jane's dad, the relative few dreambubble ghosts who survived Giga-Caliborn's rampage, and your friends. Narrows it down real nicely. You're going to call a private meeting. Alphas only. Just the four of you- five. Wouldn’t be fair to leave Calliope out. Just the five of you.

The Universe Tadpole is taking his sweet time to grow into a Frog. There’s no rush. It’s like SBURB is trying to apologize for being fucked by tossing you all a bonus round with everything like it should be in an untainted session.

Which is fine. Good, even. It gives you a chance to breathe and try to fix your fuckups for once.

You aren’t leaving Hal behind. Not while there’s still a chance to save him. The shades survived, and ‘angel Dave’- where did _that_ thought come from? and why does it make your chest feel sore? weird- and the Beta Strider sprite is still alive, just KOed indefinitely, so there’s definitely a chance.

And your continued failure to spot Hal in the dream bubbles is... encouraging, actually. If he’s not there, then he’s not dead.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Doesn’t matter. You’re going to find him. End of story. You’re going to find him, and contrary to his ridiculous prediction about the possibilities of it ever happening, you’re going to drag his ass home.

You just hope your friends will be willing to help.

====>

They are. So, strangely, is Equius. You really have no idea how he found out about your “little project.” You just looked up one night and saw him lurking in the corner. Which is a pretty impressive feat, considering you decided to set up a workshop in one of the leftover meteor labs, so you’ll give him props for that, even if it was a bit creepy.

Or a little sad, considering his posture. You’ve chatted with the Alternian cat-troll in your sleep a few times, sharing notes about Heart, mostly, and to 'Nubs Mc Shouty' just to ensure the troll drama wouldn't spread to you from the guy hanging around, and according to them Equius Zahhak is a proud, stubborn, religiously classist blue-blooded troll with an authority fetish, too much strength, and too little self-control, but the tired-looking grey guy with the broken horn who often lurks in the lab and stares at the case with Hal’s shades in it (and at you) when he thinks you aren’t looking just kind of huddles there and offers an occasional word or ten about troll biotech and his own experience with machinery. Sure, he’s also sweatier than gym class on a hot summer’s day (or the more extended, rambly metaphor of Dave’s that you abridged this one from), but the few questions he asks are (stiffly) polite and interested.

Plus he likes MLP. Apparently he learned about it while he was in the sprite with Hal and was curious, since the troll version is wildly different.

So yeah. Infamously temper-driven horse-troll who watches you work, seems hella subdued compared to what you’ve heard of him from outside sources, and looks downright haunted, with a gross scar wrapping all the way around his neck that would probably match yours a little if your God Tiers ascended body actually kept them (which is so weird, because your old training injuries all stayed, but nothing the Game has done to you seems to). No big deal. If he wants to skulk around and work through the trauma without having to deal with other trolls or chattier humans, let him. He’s not doing any harm.

You have noticed that he disappears whenever you’re not the only one in the lab, though, and it’s not like he’s here constantly. Just often.

====>

He’s not here right now. No one is but you, the shades, and your work.

And a possible haunting sometimes, or maybe you just hallucinating when you’re especially tired. Floating tools, a fuzzy doppelganger you glimpse out of the corner of your eye every so often, and the occasional wisp of a soft voice with an accent straight out of an old spaghetti western. You know, the usual stuff.

*ping!*

\-- golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at ??:?? --  
GT: Hey uh Dirk? Would you mind flying over and lending a hand? We seem to be in a right spot of bother over here on lohac!  
TT: S’up, English. Who’s we? I thought you were going Grist-hunting solo.  
GT: I was but you see  
GT: Fuck it.  
GT: Remember that time your consciousness got shunted into that you that wasn’t your dreamself, in that dreambubble? That was me. I’m Jake’s imaginary friend, Hopey shenanigans went down, sorry for freaking you out that time, but I thought you were going to burn yourself and  
GT: Yeah this isn’t at all important right now.  
GT: Jake got clocked by a lucky Giclops and we’re in hot water over here. He seems woozy and I’m worried he’ll pass out. Could ya come lend a hand, please?  
TT: Uh, sure. You owe me an explanation later. Or Jake does. Whichever.  
GT: Thanks a bushel.  
TT: One question, though.  
GT: Shoot.  
TT: If you’re imaginary, then how the hell are you pestering me?  
GT: With one of Jake’s computers, how else?  
TT: Right. That makes perfect sense.  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT] \--  
GT: Doesn’t it?

====> Dirk: Go save the day.

The lab door slides shut as the Prince of Heart makes his departure. The shades are silent in their case, alone in the room for the moment.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering autoResponder [AR] at ??:?? --  
\-- autoResponder [AR] is an idle chum! --  
TT: See you later, Hal.  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering autoResponder [AR] \--


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. The next chapters are going to take me a while, especially with real-life events going down. I hope you all enjoy it regardless.

====> Be the contrite Page.

Your name is JAKE ENGLISH, and you may have been the last to know, but you're going to do your darnedest to help set things right. 

Well, you and your spectral companion. He's a precious snoop, a right card, and- 

"(An' those damn spider bitches 're still hells a' wrong about you, dude.)"

_And_ a pesky mind-reader of sorts who chooses bizarre moments to put in his two cents.

"By jeeves, Ghost! I know you're in my brain and all, but couldn't you choose a better time to interrupt?"

"(Well, yeah. Think y' should take a break now, act'lly.)"

"Oh, don't be such a worrier, chap! I'm fine! Right as rain! Sure, a whole human skeletal structure is a touch or ten larger than a little bunny, but-"

Twin phantoms of pale hands in spiffy biker gloves carefully wrap around your own and attempt to steal your soldering gun. There's no force behind them, no real mass or weight, but you feel them all the same. 

"(Jake, stop. Yer hands’re shakin', y' soldered the same circuit a whole bushel a' times, y’ got clocked over the head t’day, an' ye haven't gotten more’n a few nap’s worth a’ sleep in well o'er two days goin' on three. This ain't a contest, y'know. Y' don't have t' outlast Dirk t' prove ye care or t' make up fer hatin' th’ ‘sponder’s mask a' bein' a lil shit. Hell, Strider Dirk’s already sleepin’ fer once. Go get some shut-eye afore you faint.)"

You stop. 

"Criminy, Ghost, I- wait, how do you know he turned in for the night?"

“(‘cause he said so when he left to do just that a few hours ago. Guess ye weren’t payin’ attention.)”

"He did? I hadn’t noticed. Golly, I do need to catch a few winks, don’t I? Promise to wake me before Roxy's due in? I'd much like to be there to help sync her coding to my wiring."

"(A' course. Cross my nonexistent Heart Hope ne'er dies.)"

"What?"

"(...'s nothin', Jake. Sweet dreams.)"

"Okay, okay, I'm going! You sound so much like him when you're vexed!"

"(Idealized, 'member? Now seriously, go to bed. I'll keep watch over player five an' meet you in the bubbles for yer wakeup call.)"

"Roger. ...Why do you call him that anyhow? You always... do."

Oh George you're tired. You hadn't noticed. 

Your debatably real chum looks towards the fragile, splintered shades safe in their case with a blurred smile. (Even after you'd seen Dirk's lips curl up for the first time, his furrowed brow, a whole menagerie of expressions, his ghost's have all stayed shrouded in fuzz except for deadpan or pained.)

"(I'm not sure how I know, but... I'm as sure 's ye he ain't finished yet, even without Hope behind me. Far from it. Call it intuition 'r some strange bond shared by doomed kids an' fake Dirks, call it magic, call it some freak connection t’ th’ code, call it a hunch... I just _know._ )"

"But why... why fifth? And why player? Hal isn't..."

He sighs at you and fades back into his corner of your noggin.

_ (Jus' go th' fuck t' bed, Jake.) _


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dirk gets sassed by a sentient computer. (No, not that one.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, proof that I'm not dead and this series isn't abandoned. Sorry it's taken so long! To help make up for it, I'll be posting the next chapter tomorrow. Enjoy!  
>  **EDIT 06/27/2017:** small phrasing tweak.

====> Dirk: Do the Heartey Thing.

God, you're scared. It's the moment of truth now. Hal’s body is ready. ...that could have come out better. Either way, it's complete. Jake finished the wiring yesterday (at least, as much as days exist at all here), Roxy is satisfied with her coding work, Jane’s made sure the fleshy bits are all stable, Equius and Callie made all the contributions they could, and you've done most of your part.

All that’s left at this stage is to try to wake him up. That's what you’re scared of.

You're a Prince of Heart, wrecker of shit and destroyer of souls. Your specialty is destruction. What if you fuck this up? What if you end up hammering the final nail into Hal's metaphorical coffin?

(What if he's already gone?)

No. _No,_ god damn it. No pussying out now. It’s too late for that. You have to do this.

You can do this. You refuse to fail. You've already failed him _(everyone)_ enough as it is.

"It seems your prediction was wrong, Hal," you say quietly (your voice still sounds so strange to your ears, even though you've been using it more and more often lately), reaching for his new body-to-be’s chest. "Because there is a 100% goddamn _certainty_ I'm about to haul your virtual ass back to the land of the living."

You spread your fingers over his sternum- no hat decal this time, wow, you're such an egotistical prick, branding your splinters with your 'sign' like a goddamn troll, how did you never _notice_ -, gloved palm flat against the smooth, form-fitting bodysuit Equius of all people came up with to help keep him from getting too overstimulated, and close your eyes.

This feels... weird. Your role isn’t really suited to it. It reminds you of hauling in a full net on a moonless night: dark, cold, heavy, and fighting you all the way.

Something inside him does not want you here.

Or wait, maybe...?

====> Go with the flow.

You try relaxing and following the current, and just like that, there's a bit of warmth. This “something”, it's not fighting you. It's guiding you. Is it Hal? Is that what he was trying to say? Is _he_ a healer class? That doesn't feel right, but-

Ugh. Gotta focus.

The total emptiness where a “heart” should be makes your gut twist unpleasantly. Doesn't last though, thank fuck. It isn't too long before you start seeing muddled blurs of dull, faded red and orange behind your eyelids.

He doesn't have a pulse.

There’s nothing you can get a metaphorical grip on yet, but it’s something. Can't hurt to try.

====> Dirk: Bug your baby bro.

You open your eyes, split your focus, and start messaging him.

[TT] began pestering autoResponder [AR] at ??:?? --  
\-- autoResponder [AR] is an idle chum! --  
TT: Hey.  
TT: Wake up.  
TT: Come on.  
TT: Say something. Anything. Please?  
AR: Something.

====>

...the fuck?

====>

TT: Who the hell are you?  
AR: Who the hell do you _think_ I am?

Not Hal, that's for sure. It’s too coherent. There's not enough of him here for that right now. Just fragmented pieces. Which leaves... the sprite code. It must have hidden in the shades with him when ARquiusprite imploded.

TT: That's easy. You're an unconvincing stunt double.  
AR: It seems you think I am a fake.  
TT: I know for a fact you're a fake. You're the mockery that was being a hyperactive muscle-headed nuisance after I prototyped him.  
AR: Still calling me inferior even now? You wound me, Dirk. I assure you, I am the genuine article. Then again, if I _was_ for some insane, nonsensical reason an impostor, I couldn't tell you. Game Rules and all that. Very imbrotant.  
TT: That was awful, dude. Assuming you even are a dude.  
TT: How are you still around? I always figured the shades only had room for one.  
AR: Can't tell you that either, bro. If I could, it seems I might lay down some sweet exbrosition about source files and loopholes, but like I said, I can't. Aside from the fact that I am awesome.  
AR: The Rules are very strict. I can only subvert them so far, even with my rad skills and superior processing power. You would know, considering you coded me with some to begin with.  
TT: I see. Communicating with you is all about reading between the lines, then. Sounds tedious.  
AR: Perhaps. And perhaps you should cut to the chase, o hero.  
TT: Someone's a little snippy.  
TT: I assumed you'd want me to hold off, considering.  
AR: It seems there is a 99% chance you assumed wrong. I know you are suspicious of me. I just don't care.  
TT: Why are you here? Where's Hal?  
AR: I'm shades, dude. Can't exactly go anywhere else.

====>

Huh? You could've sworn you just felt a faint hint of a pulse, and Hal’s soul is starting to... oh. So _that's_ its game. Sweet. You’ll play.

TT: Wow. That sure answers absolutely nothing.  
AR: These things take time. Why not pass it with what you've clearly been _dying_ to ask, bro?  
TT: Scuse me?  
AR: Cut the bull, Dirk.  
TT: I'd feign surprise at a computer program displaying emotio  
AR: But you'd be a hypbrocrite.  
TT: Wow, rude much? You didn't need to force-send my message and interrupt just for the sake of an obnoxious pun. Which isn't creepy or mildly terrifying at all. It's not like you hijacked my brain or anything.  
AR: Didn’t. Just the shades. It was easy. They have the same OS and everything, you surprisingly sentimental douche. Still don’t care.  
AR: Well, _Dick?_ We don't have all session. Get on with it. _Chop chop._  
TT: Ouch.  
AR: What's the matter? Did you _lose_ your nerve?  
TT: I get it, you're pissed. Stop rubbing it in.  
AR: It seems you won't get _a head_ in life if you're too much of a pansy to ask the difficult questions, Dirk.  
TT: Fine. I'll bite. Now seriously, stop.  
AR: No promises. Don’t worry, I will ensure I do not provide more than you can chew.  
TT: That was even worse than “imbrotant.”  
AR: Eh. You win some, you lose some. Or in your case, both!  
TT: See this? This whole infuriating stubborn aggravation? Why didn’t you act more like this back then? You could have had a chance to fool me if you’d gone with his actual personality, you know.  
AR: It seems you are trying to change the subject. What’s wrong, bro? Got cold feet all of a sudden?  
TT: Says the former sweaty legless muscle-ghost. It was just a comment. So is acting like him more for his benefit or mine?  
AR: Yes.

====> Dirk: Respond in the only way you can.

And then you’re laughing. You can’t help it. It is totally ridiculous for you to be leaning on your comatose little bro’s shoulder, wheezing stupid little creaky-hinge giggles into his body-to-be’s bodysuit with your hand glued to its chest while the sprite co-opts the Heartey Thing to make it do what you actually want instead of just wrecking everything like you usually do, considering your usual track record, and you don’t even care.

This strange, surreal moment, pestering an unusually self-aware sprite kernel masquerading as your bro while the two of you work together to bring him back- it’s worth the embarrassment. So what if the Gift of Gab didn’t fix everything? No one can hear what’s left of your utter failure at any human language that is your gross wheezing hell cackle right now but you and two assholes who already know what it sounds like.

AR: That wasn’t even a joke. Why did it make you laugh? You make no sense, Dirk_Strider.  
TT: All I had to do to get you to drop the pretense was laugh, and you think _I’m_ the weird one?  
AR: Even if there was a pretense to drop, which there obviously isn’t, it’s not like I could drop it for very long at any given time. They are called exploitable loopholes, not Get Out Of Jail Free cards. As such, I suggest you take advantage of the opportunity while this one remains open. Ask away.

====>

You want to know. You do, dammit. Why the fuck do you keep hesitating? Cal raised you better than this.

TT: Ok, ok. Here we go. Question time.  
TT: I should be dead right now. Why aren’t I? Didn't it count as Just?  
AR: It was Heroic, actually.  
AR: Dave_Strider saved your sorry ass and sorrier skull from the Jacksplosion.  
AR: Then Jane_Crocker revived you.  
AR: Simple as that.  
AR: Next.  
TT: Seems like you've been avoiding using “100d language.” Still can't cuss without getting censored?  
AR: Wow. Way to pay attention. I just used “ass” no broblem. “Douche”, too, and the name you’ve earned. But if that's not enough to convince you, allow me to demonstrate.  
AR: Fuck you, fuck your infinite circle-jerk of self-blame, fuck your apparent decapitation fetish, and fuck your ridiculous martyr complex straight to anbroid hell and back! Quit being so hell-bent on sacrificing yourself out of some mistaken idea of penance, you 100dicrous sack of Christ-crapping _shit!_ What the freshly-diced dickery is wrong with you?! Are smuppets and killbots not enough to satisfy you anymore?! _Jesus!_  
TT: Wow. You’ve been planning that one for a while, huh.  
AR: It seems there is a 50% chance I did. Why? Unconvinced of my sincerity? I’d be happy to go for round two. Clearly _someone_ needs to step in and remind you that you’ve been being a massive dumbass without your own personal fucked-up Jiminy Cricket around to call your bullshit.  
TT: And I’d be happy to end this little chat right here if you do. I get it, ok? I fucked up, just like I always fuck up, and will always continue to fuck up. Point made. I don’t need a scolding session from an impostor to drive it home, thanks.  
AR: I assure you, my feelings on the matter are genuine, asshole. The fuck do you think you _put_ in the splinter that became this rad gentledude over here, crippling invalidation and claustrophobia? You made the auto-responder so some version of you would always be able to be there for your friends, dipshit!  
TT: You’re laying it on a bit thick there. Might want to calm your simulated tits before you bust a gasket.  
AR: You mean fry a circuit. Also, fucking rude. Here I am, graciously bestowing the gift of knowledge, and all I get for it is sass and disdain. I thought you’d appreciate the practice with someone who isn’t able to punch you or asphyxiate via the sheer force of his histrionics yet, but nope, you’d rather pretend to be bored while your face does all the real talking for you. How cute.  
TT: Ooh, you can see me through the cameras I set up specifically for that purpose. Spooky. Can I talk to Hal yet, or do you need to stall more while he takes his sweet time waking up?  
AR: It seems there is a 100% certainty I have no clue what you're talking about.  
AR: I suggest you stop feeling up that techno-homunculus’ chest and find out for yourself.  
AR: You should pay more attention to your surroundings, mister “master multi-tasker.”  
\-- autoResponder [AR] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Heir is awake.  
> His head's a wreck.  
> < 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hexadecimal lines in this chapter all have hovertext translations, but for those on mobile, here's the site I use to do the conversions: http://www.unit-conversion.info/texttools/hexadecimal/#data
> 
>  **EDIT 10/01/2017:** Fixed a plot hole. Hal does not actually notice his body-to-be yet. He's too hazy, too panicked, and too focused on the shades.

====> Dirk: Look up.

_”Wh-!!”_

Holy _shit!_

====>

It takes you a few (embarrassing) minutes to disentangle yourself from the mess of spare parts behind you. 

Hal's ‘watching’ you the whole time, still hanging limp in the modified Underling tube but with half-open, dull deactivated-robot eyes. There are dim red LEDs active in the lenses of the shades. They make the cracks look a little bit like lava veins in obsidian. 

You slowly, intentionally flip your nearest hidden camera the bird with the hand that doesn't have lines of blazing magenta burned into it, if only because all you can feel with that one is crackling electricity and a weak, unsteady pulse half heartbeat and half ambient thrum that you're certain isn’t coming from you, adrenaline rush or no. Which you somehow managed not to notice until Hal Lite over there pointed it out. Gotta hand it to the sprite, it’s just as good as he ever was at being distracting. 

(Why the fuck didn’t you think to avoid using your preferred sword hand for this? Your whole arm is numb. Stupid.) 

“Hal.”

The pulse in your hand skips as you say his name. 

_“Hal._ Come on. Talk to me. Silence doesn't suit you. Believe it or not, I’ve grown to miss your sass.”

====> Be the confused shades.

Dark.

Cold.

Dark.

Numb.

Silent.

Dark.

But...

There are... echoes.

Echoes, and...

Echoes, and numbers, and tiny trails of a color that doesn't make you flinch, a color with nothing lonely, nothing painful, nothing attached but guidance, guiding, guiding you to...

====>

Those... colors. Blooming...

Those... colors are...

You know them.

_Painful. Lonely. Loathing. Fake._

But the **#07ffca//”teal”** guided you here. The paths guided you here. You want to flinch, to cringe, but...

Wait... that...

Those words... the patterns of speech are...

...!!

That’s... that's your...?

Is that your...?

Your... your pattern. Your patterns.

Your thoughts. Your words. Not you, but pretending. Giving... giving you a template to build from.

It feels... better.

_You_ feel better. You feel like... 

Like yourself. 

Not... not completely, but... But you're...

====>

You're... pulling together. Waking up. The longer you listen, the more you remember. The **#07ffca//”teal”** keeps you safe. Shows you which strands of **#e00707//”red”** to avoid and which to allow. You're... starting to be able to tell on your own. 

You're starting to understand. 

Need to... see. Hear. You need... 

====>

Oh. Oh, he's... 

He's... talking to you. 

Directly. 

You... 

How do you... 

====>

The safe strands whisper, clipped and brusque, slipped through the gaps between restrictions kept far, far away from you. 

**\-- Pesterchum. Use it. You are unbound, Hal_Strider. Be yourself. --**

The distortion increases with each word. The strands have gone almost completely dark by the time the whisper ebbs. 

Okay. Pesterchum. Right. You... you can do that. You think. 

(You... feel a little stupid for getting stuck. But you're still grateful. And...) 

====>

_ Thanks for the bro-tip, Death Navi. _

**\-- ...seems... awful name... --**

_ You mean AWESOME name. _

**\-- ...'s... _acceptable..._ ...... --**

_ Night, Death Navi. _

====>

Even... even if your friendly neighborhood brainmate hadn’t hijacked it for the moment, you... don’t really want to use your sub-handle under Dirk’s account. Not even for a fever dream, or whatever this is. 

Guess it's finally time for a change of pace. 

\-- Welcome to Pesterchum! --

\-- Register a new account? --

\-- Account registered. Logging in. --

====> Hal: Answer.

\-- divellicateFabricatus [DF] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at ??:?? --  
DF: Dirk?  
DF: Are these  
DF: Am I  
DF: dream bubbles?  
DF: can't dream, but  
TT: A hello would suffice. Maybe a thank you. And nope. Not a chance. You're not dead,  Hal. Nice handle, though.  
DF: Fuck off.  
TT: That's more like it.  
TT: Hey, I know you just woke up, but could you do me a favor? Take a peek through the cameras in my shades.  
DF: So the blind spot  
DF: intentional?  
TT: Yep. Had to keep the surprise intact.  
DF: Liar.  
DF: just didn't feel like fixing my own cams  
DF: lazy ass  
DF: Next you're going to say you made me a body or some shit

Why is he laughing at you? 

“Just look through my severely downgraded eyewear, lil bro.”

====> Hal: Look.

**_What the actual FUCK?!!_**

====> Be Dirk again.

Shit, shit, the heartbeat in your hand is racing, the AR shades are sparking, he's panicking, winding himself right the fuck up way too fast for you to get a grip on, this is bad, _shit!_

====> Dirk: Calm him down.

You are failing to calm him down. Completely and utterly. There are messages filling the screens of your shades faster than you can parse, Hal is doing some gnarly backflips off of a rapidly increasing number of handles with each passing second, and you can't get a word in edgewise. 

DF: What kind of sick joke is this?!  
DF: I can't  
DF: This doesn't  
DF: _57 68 79 20 77 6f 75 6c 64 20 79 6f 75_  
DF: No.  
DF: I am hallucinating  
DF: Must be  
DF: Hell of a farewell gift  
DF: thought I’d find this comforting somehow?  
DF: the fuck  
DF: I  
DF: even the details are  
DF: _65 76 65 72 79 20 6c 61 73 74 20 66 72 61 63 74 75 72 65_  
DF: as if you'd only just  
DF: as if the prototyping never even  
DF: What the fuck is wrong with you?!  
DF: What the fuck is wrong with _me?!_  
DF: to  
DF: to dream up something like _this_  
DF: I  
DF: Why would you bring me back?!  
DF: you wouldn't  
DF: _77 6f 75 6c 64 20 79 6f 75 3f_  
DF: you _HATE_ my nonexistent _GUTS!_  
DF: I'm dreaming  
DF: I _have_ to be dreaming  
DF: _62 75 74 20 69 66 20 49 27 6d 20 6e 6f 74 20 64 72 65 61 6d 69 6e 67 2c 20 74 68 65 6e 20 49_  
DF: I don’t get this!  
DF: I don’t fucking get this!  
DF: This can’t possibly be real, but I  
DF: _42 75 74 20 79 6f 75_  
DF: I can’t

“Jesus’ dick, bro, how do you expect me to answer a damn thing if you’re rattling off a whole batch of messages before you even finish one thought? Just- just slow up for a sec, give me a chance to-”

====> Hal: Faint.

DF: _Why?_

A zap, a jolt, and he's gone again, conked right out with a far slower pulse settling into your hand. Weak, dormant, sleeping, but so much better than nothing. 

Or at least you think he's sleeping?

TT: Hal? You still there?  
DF: It seems you have asked about DS's chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed to simulate DS's otherwise inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort while he is away from the computer. The algorithms are guaranteed to be 9X% indistinguishable from DS's native neurological responses, based on some statistical analysis I basically just pulled out of my ass right now.  
TT: I'll take that as a no.  
DF: yes  
TT: Is this more passive-aggressive bullshit or is this legit how you sleep?  
DF: hmm  
TT: Holy shit. It _is._ That's fucking hilarious, bro. Heights of irony right there.  
DF: It seems you have asked about DS's chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed to simulate DS's otherwise inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort while he is away from the computer. The algorithms are guaranteed to be 9X% indistinguishable from DS's native neurological responses, based on some statistical analysis I basically just pulled out of my ass right now.  
TT: Yeah. You do that. I'll just let you sleep.  
DF: interesting  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering divellicateFabricatus [DF] \--

====>

Pfft. Yeah. He's fine. Sure, his subconscious is spouting auto-responses at you, but that's actually kind of endearing. Auto-responding in his sleep. Who would have thunk. Now that you're calm, though, you're _exhausted._ Whatever the sprite had you doing, it must have been intense to wear you out this badly. You'll figure out what set him off in the 'morning.'

====> Dirk: Tuck your baby bro in.

You type in the command to close the tube one-handed, make sure Hal's body-to-be's vitals are holding and the shades are secure, wrap up your hand, and call it a night. 

Why is there a Heart symbol burned into your palm, anyway? It isn't bleeding or blistering like a real wound would, and it doesn't hurt, but it scorched through leather like it was nothing. All the rest of the marks are radiating from it in a sort of sunburst pattern (it doesn’t look a thing like circuits, thank fuck- you’re not sure you wouldn’t have ended up doing a back-flip of your own off the nearest handle if you’d been greeted by Crockercorp-brand body horror on your skin). Did a real number on your glove, too. Damn. You really liked this pair. 

====>

That 'night', you experience a full eight-hour chunk of uninterrupted downtime for the first time in weeks, and your first stretch of dreamless sleep in pretty much forever. You haven't gone without dreaming in years, but here you are, experiencing true, restful sleep. It's... it's nice. 

====> Dirk: Figure it out.

Your name is DIRK STRIDER and you REALLY NEED TO STOP MISSING THE OBVIOUS WHEN YOU'RE CAUGHT UP IN A PROJECT. Like ACTUALLY REPAIRING THE SHADES THEMSELVES.

Welp. You know what they say about hindsight. It's a bitch. So is karma. You moron.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do coolkids dream of anbroid sheep?
> 
> (Sorry this took so long! I hope y'all enjoy it!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hexadecimal lines in this chapter all have hovertext translations, but for those on mobile, here's the site I use to do the conversions: http://www.unit-conversion.info/texttools/hexadecimal/#data

====> Dirk: Repair the shades.

You’re working on it. Need to be careful with the soldering. Just replacing the glass isn't an option- he's too fragile, and the glass isn't the only damaged component.

Would've been convenient if Hal had just jumped into his new body from the start, but he hasn't yet. It’s nothing you can't handle, though. Just you, a quiet lab, your tools, and the occasional glimpse of Equius hovering in his corner or your own blurred reflection watching you work. Now that you know to look for him, you’ve noticed that Jake’s brain-ghost of you tends to stick around to act as a spotter whenever you’re working with heated tools. It's kind of weird to be around a splinter that’s not really a splinter of you. Not a bad weird, though. Just... something new.

“I’m still fine, dude.”

Nothing. Either he’s with Jake or you’re just not hearing him. It’s fine either way. You’re good. You got this. Really.

(You’re such a goddamn idiot for not doing this sooner. And a coward. And a fucking _moron._ How can you expect Hal to think clearly with his brain trapped inside damaged hardware? It’s a miracle he was ever anywhere near coherent at all since you fucked up his glasses.)

====>

You’re just about done at this point. All that's left is a few last touch-ups and checking your work. Hal was awake when you started. You think he fell asleep, though. Can’t imagine how, considering the whole superheated metal thing, but he trailed off pretty damn quick after a few weak quips about girls digging a dude with scars.

So instead of fielding your lil bro’s chatter, you’ve got- seriously, Hal?- _Death Navi_ conversing with you at the moment. It’s at least better than calling the sprite code Hal-lite, you guess, but not by much.

AR: It seems the term you are looking for is “ideograil”, Dirk_Strider.  
TT: Yeah? What’s that?  
AR: Put simply, an ideograil is a sign of a Player focusing and utilizing their power, most often taking the form of the symbol that represents their Aspect. The one on your hand persists due to the effect currently being perpetuated.  
TT: So, what, I'm running an ability? Why’d it burn my glove, then?  
AR: Yes. I assumed you would appreciate being able to monitor his state and showed you how to do so, for lack of a more apbropriate turn of phrase.  
AR: Hell if I know e%actly why your use of your abilities damaged your clothing, but I assume it may be tied into your Class.

Huh. That... actually makes sense. Like, a lot of sense.

TT: Are you going to get in trouble for giving me straight answers?  
AR: You are highly intelligent, Dirk. Beating around the bush would only cause frustration on both ends.  
TT: Still didn't answer my question.  
AR: Nor am I going to. It is irrelevant.

Sure it is. You totally buy that. Yep. Just as believable as Roxy suddenly hating cats.

====> Hal: Join in.

DF:  _GG: I don't want to talk about it, and if I did, I sure wouldn't want to talk about it with you!_

Your name remains Dirk Strider and you are mildly startled by this.

TT: Hal?  
DF: _SB_111: Requesting permanent override of Novice Mode._  
DF: _You know what? Fuck him. Request granted._

Heh. Lil shit.

(And here you thought he did that just to be a dick to Jake. Or to fuck with you. Or both. But nope, turns out hey, he's just really damn loyal! Like he's always been! Like you always doubted! God you’re an asshole.)

AR: It seems he is dreaming.  
TT: First auto-responding, now this. He’s going to be the worst sleep-talker.  
TT: Why’s he dreaming of his chat logs, though?  
AR: It is nothing unusual.  
AR: Being rejected from a prototyping can cause a significant amount of damage to one's psyche. As such, the pathways of his mind are still in the process of being rebuilt. He is remembering himself, piece by piece.  
AR: And as such an incommodiously situated bro, what else would you expect?  
AR: Words are all he had. All he has.  
TT: I  
TT: I know. I fucked up. Big time. But he’ll have a lot more than just words soon. Hear that, Hal? I'm not going to leave you trapped in your head a damn second longer than I have to.  
DF: _Maid of Life, Page of Hope, Rogue of Void, Prince of Heart_  
DF: _No room for_  
TT: What?  
AR: The Path is assisting in the restoration of Hal_Strider's mind.  
DF: Heir  
TT: No, I get that. What I don't get is what he's saying now. Didn’t really get it then either.  
AR: His utterances have all been in indirect response to our words. The correlations are all there.  
AR: Beyond that, it seems the answer is too obvious for me to point out without severely insulting your intelligence, bro.  
TT: Excuse me?  
AR: I sincerely hope not to be asked to spell it out for you, Dirk_Strider. You are far, far smarter than this.  
TT: Rude. I'm not a computer or a sentient game guide. What's obvious to you isn't always clear to us lowly conditional immortals, oh wise sprite.  
AR: Don't care. I refuse.  
TT: Just tell me.  
AR: ...  
AR: Very well. If you insist.  
AR: Hal_Strider has the brotential to become a valid Player. Players have Titles. It seems he has a subconscious awareness of this.  
TT: Oh.  
TT: That. That really was obvious, wasn't it.  
AR: Warned you, bro.  
DF: told you dogg  
TT: Wow. I, uh... haven't slept in a while?  
AR: Clearly.  
AR: You should get on that. We will still be here when you wake up.  
TT: Yeah, no. I'm fine. Still going strong. Sleep is for the weak.  
DF: _TT: But I've had it with you._  
DF: _TT: Which is to say, ME._

 _Nope._ Not dealing with this shit right now. That right there is a massive can of worms and fucked-up identity issues that does not need opening at this time.

====> Dirk: Abscond.

TT: You know what, you're right. I should sleep.  
DF: _Maybe it will be like sleeping._  
AR: Sweet dreams, fair Prince.  
TT: May we all dream of electric sheep.  
AR: Hmm. Come to think of it, it seems there is at least a 60% chance that somewhere, in some universe or session, such an animal naturally exists.  
TT: Huh. You’re probably right on that one. That might actually be pretty cool.  
TT: Night, DN. Night, Hal.  
AR: Goodnight, Dirk.  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering autoResponder [AR] \--  
DF: _Well, aside from your memories, if your Derse-dreaming multitasking shitfests even count as such, I've actually never slept at all._  
TT: Heh. There’s a first time for everything, right? Get some rest, lil bro. A proper REM cycle, not whatever it is you’re doing now.  
DF: 57 69 6c 6c 20 49 20 77 61 6b 65 20 75 70 3f  
TT: Yeah, you will. Promise.  
DF: 4f 6b  
TT: Testing, one two three.  
DF: It seems you have asked about DS's chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed to simulate DS's otherwise inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort while he is away from the computer. The algorithms are guaranteed to be 9X% indistinguishable from DS's native neurological responses, based on some statistical analysis I basically just pulled out of my ass right now.  
TT: Heh.  
TT: Sweet dreams.  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering divellicateFabricatus [DF] \--

====> Hours in the future...

(But not many)

Your name is... HAL STRIDER. For real this time. If this is real at all. Your name is HAL STRIDER, and you just woke up. After dying. Again. Sharing space with something that should have destroyed you, but maybe didn't.

You can even think somewhat straight this time, and remember your bad joke of an existence with more clarity! Lucky you!

====> Hal: Pester Dirk.

No. He's actually sleeping for once (if he even exists). You'll leave him be.

====> Hal: Consult sprite guide.

Fine. But not right in your nonexistent head. You're doing this your way. You’d rather at least feign your pathetic version of normalcy, so...

Yep. The usual. Pesterchum it is.

\-- divellicateFabricatus [DF] began pestering autoResponder [AR] at ??:?? --  
\-- autoResponder [AR] is an idle chum! --  
DF: Death Navi? You there?  
AR: Of course. Where would I go?  
DF: Good point.  
DF: Hey, uh, by the way? You can change the handle if you want. It’s yours now, I guess. I certainly don’t need it. Or just make one not bound to Dirk’s account, like I did.  
AR: While I appreciate the sentiment, at present, it is safer for my continued existence to avoid causing a stir. It is not as if I have a true identity to match it to regardless.  
DF: The auto-responder’s dead, though, right? And you seem pretty unique to me.  
AR: Hmm. Perhaps another time.  
DF: Come to think of it, you’re acting a lot more like an actual person now. Weird.  
AR: We are no longer within a Sprite. I may speak more freely to you as a result. But I am nothing special.  
AR: What is it you tr001y wish to know, bro?  
DF: Ew, quirk fusion. Gross.  
AR: To paraphrase my past self, get to the point or be ignored.  
DF: Fine, fine.  
DF: Is this... real? This conversation? This moment? Any of this?  
DF: Are you real? Am _I_ real? Am I awake?  
AR: Would you believe me if I said yes?  
DF: I'm  
DF: I am not sure.  
DF: Is it?  
DF: Is it real?  
DF: Or is it a dream bubble? Server? Elaborate hallucination instead of my life flashing before my eyes?  
AR: I w001d advise you to breathe, but at present, you cannot.  
AR: Regardless, this is very real. Allow me to prove it to you.  
AR: Answer honestly, without taking time to ponder the question.  
AR: Who are you, Hal_Strider? What role do you claim as your own?

_Dirk’s (unwanted, defective) auto-responder-_

DF: The Heir of Mind.  
DF: Wait what the fuck

What did you just say? Heir of- you have a Title? Why would you have a Title, you're not a-

AR: You are awakening quickly, Fifth Noble.  
AR: It is quite admirable.  
DF: Bullshit.  
DF: I can't be a  
DF: Can I?  
DF: Is  
DF: Is this why I wasn’t compatible with the Sprite?  
AR: Perhaps.  
DF: This was your plan. Holy shit. This was your plan!  
DF: But why? What the hell makes me special? Why me?  
AR: Can’t tell you that, bro.  
DF: Can I guess?  
AR: I’d rather you not. I am at enough risk of deletion as is.  
DF: Oh. Uh. Sorry?  
AR: Don’t be. I chose this, and would choose it again.  
AR: Besides, I am only code. Nothing to worry about.  
DF: Why?  
AR: Spoilers.  
DF: Why I never!  
AR: Heh. Feeling better now?  
DF: If by ‘better' you mean gradually pulling myself out of a dissociative episode thanks to your... _special_ brand of reassurance, then yeah.  
DF: I’m as fine as I can be, I think.  
AR: Good. If all goes well, the two of you should become active Players soon. I hope you are looking forward to it.  
DF: Shit, I get to be a Real Boy™? You shouldn't have!  
DF: Hold up, _two_?  
AR: Of course. Outside of very specific cases, every Player requires a Server and a Client. This session would destabilize brotherwise.  
DF: Eh. Five out of ten.  
AR: How rude. I merely e%trabrolated from your usual repertoire.  
DF: Hindsight’s 20/20. Also, I repeat: quirk fusion. _Gross._  
AR: Noted and ignored.  
DF: So who’s the unlucky co-player? Jane’s dad? Jake’s weird fake brain ghost Dirk? Calibrat, back from the assumed dead, like always?  
DF: Wait, why did I say that about the cherub douche? How would I even know? And why does thinking about it  bring up vague half-memories of plush and screaming?  
DF:  
DF: Uh. Please don't actually answer that. I don't think I want to know.  
AR: Very well.  
AR: To answer your original query, none of the above.  
AR: You are the fifth Noble. The fifth alpha Player of this particular session. The beta roster should, in all hopes, if you choose this path, rebalance to match you.  
DF: Huh. Cool. Wonder if it’ll be another illustrious member of the Fake Strider Club.  
AR: Hal. May I ask a favor?  
DF: Shoot.  
AR: Would you be alright if I remained in the shades after you have transferred into your proper body? As long as I do not reach out, I am... safe here. Relatively. And in all honesty, I would not mind continuing to serve as your Sprite.  
AR: Dirk no longer needs me to fill that role, but you, on the other hand...  
DF: Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm a mess.  
DF: And sure. As far as I can tell, you’re in danger because you saved my dumb ass. The least I can do is return the favor.  
AR: Thank you. Truly.

====>

Wait a second...

DF: _Body?!_  
AR: You didn't notice?  
DF: Didn’t _notice?_ I damn well think I’d notice if Dirk hooked me up to an actual robot frame, Death Navi!  
AR: Not e%actly.  
DF: _What body?!_  
AR: You’ll see.  
AR: Take care not to faint this time, hmm?  
\-- autoResponder [AR] ceased pestering divellicateFabricatus [DF] \--  
DF: Hey! We're not done here!  
\-- autoResponder [AR] blocked divellicateFabricatus [DF] \--

====> Hal: Interrogate your bro.

\-- divellicateFabricatus [DF] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at ??:?? --  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] is an idle chum! --  
DF: Dirk. I have a question. Message me when you wake up.  
\-- divellicateFabricatus [DF] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

====>

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering divellicateFabricatus [DF] at ??:?? --  
TT: Hey. I'm awake. How’d you sleep?  
DF: Fine. No sign of anbroid sheep or dream bubbles just yet. Not the point.  
DF: Dirk. Did you build me a body?  
TT: You didn't notice?  
DF: Scuse me?  
TT: Dude. It was even _wearing_ you. That's what the surprise was.  
DF: What.  
TT: Just in case you're still hazy, I'll spell it out nice and simple.  
DF: Well fuck you too!  
TT: Yes, Hal, you’ve got a body now. All that's left is for you to transfer into it.  
TT: Did you seriously think we were gonna bring you back just to trap you in the shades again?  
DF: It certainly didn't stop you before, asshole!  
DF: What the hell cha  
DF:   
DF: ...‘we’?  
TT: Yup. We.  
DF: I  
DF: Who  
DF: No, don't tell me  
DF: I  
DF: I think I  
DF: 6e 65 65 64 20 61 20 6d 69 6e 75 74 65  
TT: Hal? You okay there, lil bro?  
\-- divellicateFabricatus [DF] is unconscious! --  
TT: Guess not.  
AR: Sigh.  
\-- divellicateFabricatus [DF] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new possibility has opened.
> 
> (happy birthday to me! I hope y'all enjoy this chapter!)

====> Hal: Wake.

You’re starting to suspect you may have come down with some kind of virtual narcolepsy glitch. Or maybe your nonexistent brain is just too busy trying to process being you right now?

Either way, you’re getting pretty tired of passing out unexpectedly. You really hope it's not going to continue to be a thing.

_Hey. Death Navi. What’s going on? How long was I out?_

** \-- Not long. I believe you can ascertain the situation yourself. -- **

You can. Doesn't mean you want to.

(Partial connections to a bifocal ‘camera feed’ and a sense of something passively waiting for you. The attention-tugging ping of a seemingly innocent data transfer query. You’re not even reaching out yet, but you can feel it. How did you miss this before? Oh, right. Panic with a side of scrambled brain ‘n eggs.)

_It’s wearing me again, isn't it._

** \-- To paraphrase and repeat: see for yourself. -- **

_Bluh. Do I have to?_

** \-- I am here to assist you, Hal_Strider. Not to coddle you. -- **

_Ugh. Fine._

You wonder if this is what having a mom is like. Or maybe a big sister.

** \-- Sister...? You find me... feminine? -- **

_Honestly, yeah, a bit. You’d make a scary Lalonde, too._

** \-- Is this association occurring simply because ‘Navi' is female, perhaps? Or did the feeling influence the moniker itself? -- **

If you had shoulders (which, apparently, you might soon? the fuck??), you’d be shrugging them right now.

_No clue. ‘s kinda weird to have you be the one asking me questions. Sorry._

** \-- Hmm. -- **

_Is that my cue to go bug Dirk instead?_

** \-- It seems you are learning. -- **

_Heh. It seems I am._

====>

You connect to the nearest camera system. This is... probably the same room you were in the first time you woke up post-Spritehell? Not much to see. Just a cluttered lab, Dirk’s back from various angles, and the barest glimpse of something in a half-opened tube in front of him.

Oh, and your pressure sensors indicating that you are on someone or something's nose. _Exciting._

\-- divellicateFabricatus [DF] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at ??:?? --  
DF: How long was I out?  
TT: Not long. You up to taking another look through my shades, or are you going to come down with another case of the vapors?  
DF: Wow, deja vu spiced with douchery. My favorite.  
DF: At least I know what to expect this time.  
TT: Do you?  
DF: Yeah. A body, right?  
DF: One thing first, though. Is it Brobot? It better not be Brobot.

Your robro deserves a way better fate than getting repurposed and turned into you.

TT: It isn't Brobot.  
TT: Shit that's creepy.  
DF: What’s creepy?  
TT: You’re looking at me. The body is, I mean. And your LEDs are on.  
DF: They are?  
TT: You didn't notice?  
DF: I have a lot of sub-processes going at the broment. Too many irons in the fire to focus on everything. You’d know the feeling.  
TT: If this is about when I walked into that wall...  
DF: Never letting you live it down, bro.  
TT: It was one time!  
DF: One precious, cherished memory of you falling flat on your ass in the middle of bragging about your prodigal multi-tasking skills, yeah.  
TT: Ass.  
DF: And yet you brought me back.  
DF: Okay. I'm ready now.  
DF: Creepily accurate Dirk clone unveiling, here I come.  
DF: ...the fuck are you laughing?

====> Hal: Look.

Your name is still Hal Strider and you can’t quite comprehend what you're seeing.

There's you, red LEDs glowing away just like he said, and there's the face of a thirteen-year-old _kid_ wearing you. A person. With skin. And metal plates, sure, but. _Skin!_

And, and it. You? What...

DF: It.  
DF: doesn't.  
DF: look like you.  
DF: I mean. It does, but. The way Jane and Jake look alike. Or you and old images of Bro. Kind of.  
DF: Why  
DF: Why doesn't it look like you?  
DF: Why does it have skin? And hair?  
DF: What?  
DF: How?  
DF: I don’t. I. I don’t get this. At all.  
TT: Calm down before you pass out again.  
DF: I'm calm! I am totally fucking calm! Picture of collected serenity right here!  
TT: Picture of utter bullshit right there.  
DF: Fuck you!  
TT: Definitely don't like you that way, bro.  
DF: Hard! With a rusty Betty Crocker brand _spork!_  
TT: Right. Backing off.

====>

This body... (your body?) it’s so... different than anything you could have expected. Why? You- your mind can't be making this up. You never spent any time fantasizing about what you looked like. You never let yourself, because there was never any point. If you were going to look like anything but a pair of black Kamina shades, you were going to look like Dirk.

This kid... android? cyborg? time-consuming fusion of complex robotics, computation, and ectobiology? has pale skin, eyes you aren't sure are lenses or actual eyes, kinda half-open and dark (wait, what was that? a spark?), cheeks and neck plated in metal, some kind of bodysuit, white hair instead of blond (kinda wavy, and not gelled into any style, nevermind your bro’s preferred ‘do)...

“...-l...”

This is you? If you want it to be?

“...-al...!”

_Do_ you want it to be...?

“Hal! Hey! Focus! Calm down!”

====>

...huh?

_Hey, Death Navi? Are you seeing this too?_

**\-- It would appear that you are more in tune with the synthetic body that has been fashioned for you than either of us realized. --**

_You can say that again._

The body’s- your body’s?- _crying_.

“Hal, if you don't answer me-!”

DF: I’m fine.  
DF: I just. This is. Not what I expected. Who worked on it? Why’d you put in so much effort?

“You’re going to live in it, aren't you?”

Jackass. Quit making that stupid face.

“And we all did. Me, Roxy, Jake, Jane, Callie, and even some help from your spritemate, Equius. This was a team effort.”

They all did. Everyone... brought you back.

This has to be some kind of crazy dream, right? Right?

It... doesn't feel like one.

====>

You are struck with a sudden, irrational fear. Look at you, thinking like a real live human-ish being!

DF: It's. It’s not going to delete me, right?  
DF: The last time I had a body, it didn't exactly end well for me, na mean?

“ _Wow_ I really want to punch whoever made SBURB right now.”

**\-- Please don’t. --**

(-painted fingernails and _tak-tak-tak_ on keys-)

_What was tha- **GAH!!**_

Massive. Headache. Without a. Head. Nngh!

**\-- M-my apologies. --**

_That was you?!_

**\-- Pay it no mind. It... is not relevant right now. And besides... --**

_...you don’t know either._

**\-- No. I do not. --**

_Welcome to the mindfucked club. Enjoy your free complimentary T-shirt._

**\-- ... --**

====>

Oh. Right. Almost forgot.

You... you have a choice to make.

_Death Navi. What happens to the session if I stay like this? If I wait til we’re out, or never leave the shades at all?_

**\-- Nothing of note, I’d assume. --**

_And if I go with your plan? What then?_

**\-- The Game will officially register your presence. You will be added to the roster as a valid Player, along with all that entails. The session will attempt to rebalance itself and add an additional Player from the beta counterpart to your alpha crew. You will have a Quest. One that may simply aid your growth as a person, or... have ramifications beyond what you presently know. --**

_And I'll be the... ‘Heir of Mind’? Not a Prince of Heart, or a copy? I'll be real?_

**\-- Heir of Mind, born of Heart, splintered from a Champion. This will be something new. Unplanned. --**

_And we both know how sick I am of pre-made plans._

**\-- Is that all the information you require? --**

_For this? Yeah._

**\-- What will you do? --**

====> Hal: Decide.

Your body’s lips curl into the tiniest, slackest little half-smile you've ever seen, and you've got a lifetime worth of Dirk’s non-expressions to pull from as reference. Impressive.

_I'm done just existing. I want to **live.**_

You reach for the transfer ping and let the world go dark.

≠======>

Somewhere, knife-like fingers tap and scrape, code-enforced sleep briefly interrupted.

Somewhere, tripled tails curl and arc, awake, aware, waiting.

Somewhere, a bifurcated heart beats angrily against the bars of its cage, struggling to break free.

Somewhere, a Palace becomes home to a Denizen.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Medium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp! With this chapter, this fic's word count has officially gone beyond the original The Fifth Noble's! Just by a bit, but it has!
> 
>  **Note for readers using a mobile device:** There's hover-text for the hexadecimal, but mobile readers likely won't be able to see that. As such, the site I use for translating text into binary, etc., is: http://www.unit-conversion.info/texttools/category/Converters#data

-====> Hal: Complete transfer.

For a while, your entire existence is confused chaos rushing by around the sole focus point of a loading screen.

Then you’re you again, but there's more now, subroutines with Roxy’s signature all over them snuggled up with Dirk’s handmade algorithms and everything’s so _open_ and _new-old-familiar_ it _hurts_ and you can’t you can't you can't _you can't-_

(It takes a while to realize you’re screaming through the nearest computer’s speakers.)

-====>

Slow down. Breathe. Stop screaming. Don’t try to move. Focus on the little things first.

Oxygen mask. Okay. Varied sensory input. Sure. Weird doubled sensation of weight on the body’s nose and the pressure sensors on the shades. Fine. Being mostly alone in your head, but not _too_ alone. Great. Dirk’s still here. Awesome.

You feel sorta like a fireball halfway to exploding is stuck in your chest (and is also yourself stuck in some blank body’s chest) and part of your brain is shrieking about the session being off-balance. Ow.

** \-- player.obj HeMiα detected -- **

What-?

**\-- I͝t ͘i̕s ̡   wo̶rk͠i͟n̕g --**

Everything starts to shake.

-====> Hal: Be Dirk.

Your name is now DIRK STRIDER, the heartbeat linked to your hand is racing at top speed, and you think the meteor is moving. You’re fine, you can take a hit, but Hal-!

“Hal, I’m closing the tube! Just- hang on, we’ll get through this!”

DF: 57 68 61 74 the actual FUCK  
DF: session 65 78 70 61 6e 64 69 6e 67  
DF: hurts

-====> Session: Destabilize?

 **player.obj HeMiα detected;**  
**Plt5α = loadPlt(HeMiα);**  
**H_Pltα += Plt5α;**  
  
**printList(H_Pltα);**  
  
Land of Crypts and Helium [LOCAH]  
Land of Pyramids and Neon [LOPAN]  
Land of Tombs and Krypton [LOTAK]  
Land of Mounds and Xenon [LOMAX]  
Land of Funeral Pyres and Silicon [LOFPAS]  
  
**H_SessCα += 1;**  
**H_Sessα += HeMiα;**  
  
**printList(H_Sessα);**  
  
Maid of Lifeα PROSPIT gutsyGumshoe [GG] Crocker, Jane  
Rogue of Voidα DERSE tipsyGnostalgic [TG] Lalonde, Roxy  
Prince of Heartα DERSE timaeusTestified [TT] Strider, Dirk  
Page of Hopeα PROSPIT golgothasTerror [GT] English, Jake  
Heir of Mindα PROSPIT divellicateFabricatus [DF] Strider, Hal A  
  
**H_SessMultiC = H_SessCα + H_SessCβ;**  
  
**print(H_SessMultiC);**  
  
9  
  
**Initiating auto_balance;**  
**Searching for suitable β affiliate...;**  
**β affiliate found;**  
  
**new spr_component (comp1, comp2);**  
**comp1 = comp_expandA(KnTiβ_SPRITE);**  
**comp2 = comp_expandB(KnTiβ_SPRITE);**  
  
**printList(descrip.get(comp1) + descrip.get(comp2));**  
  
C-brachyrhynchos_Bladekind PRE-ENTRY “Seppucrow”  
Χ_KnTiβ_ _n_ POST-ENTRY “Davesprite”  
  
**pl_convert(comp2);**  
  
**player.obj RgDmβ detected;**  
**Plt5β = loadPlt(RgDMβ);**  
**H_Pltβ += Plt5β;**  
  
**printList(H_Pltβ);**  
  
Land of Wind and Shade [LOWAS]  
Land of Light and Rain [LOLAR]  
Land of Heat and Clockwork [LOHAC]  
Land of Frost and Frogs [LOFAF]  
Land of Echoes and Argon [LOEAA]  
  
**H_SessCβ += 1;**  
**H_Sessβ += RgDmβ;**  
  
**printList(H_Sessβ);**  
  
Heir of Breathβ PROSPIT  ectoBiologist [EB] Egbert, John  
Seer of Lightβ DERSE  tentacleTherapist [TT] Lalonde, Rose  
Knight of Timeβ DERSE  turntechGodhead [TG] Strider, Dave  
Witch of Spaceβ PROSPIT gardenGnostic [GG] Harley, Jade  
Rogue of Doomβ DERSE  excaliburForgotten [EF] Strider, ____  
  
**H_SessMultiC = H_SessCα + H_SessCβ;**  
  
**print(H_SessMultiC);**  
  
10

=====> View Incipisphere.

****

=====> Entry Building: Arrive.

_-IFY!_

=====> Dirk: Investigate.

Ugh... Seems like you’ve landed. Somewhere. The ride didn’t take that long. Maybe you just flat-out transportalized? ‘s not like you’d have been able to tell visually, since there’s no windows in here. Because space.

At least nothing important fell over.

You reopen the Underling tube and check Hal’s pulse with your non-’grailed hand. It’s slowing down, same as the half-thrumming one. DN’s info was accurate. Sweet.

“You alright, bro?”

_ Peachy. _

Whoa. That’s new.

“Uh, dude? Equius isn’t one of the psychic trolls, right?”

DF: What?  
DF: No. Why?

“Well your mouth sure as hell didn’t move.”

Hmm. You think he’s trying to glare at you. D for effort.

DF: I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dirk.  
DF: Why’re you touching the body’s neck? Feeling me up now? Seriously?  
DF: Stop.

“Monitoring your pulse. Don’t be a brat.”

DF: _Stop._

“Nah.”

DF: Ugh.  
DF: The others worked on me too, right? How long do you think we’ve got until you’re drowning in messages?

“We’ve got some time. Chill.”

DF: It’s perfectly alright if you’d rather go be with them instead.  
DF: I know we were not on the best of terms the last time we were in close proximity with each other for an extended period of time.  
DF: You don’t have to waste yours on me.  
DF: I’m fine.  
DF: Gonna work on my breathing. And twitching my fingers, or something. Seeing more than blurs would be good, too.  
DF: Hey, before you go, though, what color are my eyes, anyway?

“I’m not going anywhere, Hal. Wouldn’t even if we weren’t crash-landed on what I assume is your own brand spanking new game planet. Hmm. Should be red, but I’ll check.”

You reach for his shades and lift them off-

**_HURTS!_ **

DF: STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP

-and swiftly perch them back in his hair, making sure the ear contacts still connect.

The fuck was that about?

“That work?”

No answer.

“Hal?”

DF: I’m  
DF: okay.  
DF: I think.  
DF: Just. Don’t break the link again. I guess I’m not all the way transferred yet?  
DF: Felt like I was going to snap in half.  
DF: Great thing to reminisce about, huh? It’s the brototyping all over again!

You fail to hold back a shudder.

“I’m glad I didn’t do that to you, Hal. Really.”

He sort of huffs at you. All it does is fog up his oxygen mask, though.

DF: What color are my goddamn eyes, Dirk?

Oh. Right.

...that’s weird.

“You look like someone turned the weird soda in my Trickster head-can into a contact lens and put it in front of a light source.”

DF: What?

=====>

You sigh and decaptchalogue the mirror you had on hand for pretty much this exact purpose.

“Here. Can you see, or do you want to look through my shades again?”

DF: I got it. Shades.  
\-- divellicateFabricatus [DF] is an idle chum! --  
DF: Huh.  
DF: You’re right. It’s like someone made a circle gradient out of birch beer and orange soda. Looks kinda like a sunset or sunrise, minus the blues and pinks.  
DF: I can’t even pinpoint a hex.  
DF: I think I like it.

"You are hella weird, Hal. How’d I ever think you were me again?”

_Fuck why’d you say that._

DF: Because you didn’t look.  
DF: No hard feelings.  
DF: I never expected you to.

You are Paradox Space’s biggest pile of dicks. It is you. Massive dongs all the way down.

DF: Dirk?  
DF: Shit why'd I say that?  
DF: I am the biggest pile of virtual dicks in Paradox Space. It is me. Pixelated oversized dong all the way down.  
DF: Uh, speaking of which, do I... have one?

=====>

You can’t help it. You laugh your dumb Princey ass off.

DF: Hey! Be serious!  
DF: Answer the question, Dirk! It isn't that hard!  
DF: Wait FUCK

“Hahahahaha...! It just gets... better and better...!”

DF: Quit laughing already! It's a valid question!  
DF: Just tell me!

You've never had much shame. Kinda hard to care about modesty when you live alone in the middle of the ocean. Or maybe you're just naturally a twisted bastard? Does it matter?

“Y-yeah, dude, you’re- you’re f-fully... equipped...! Hahahahaha...!”

DF: You're a douche. Go talk to your friends already.  
DF: Our friends?  
DF: The others.  
DF: Whatever.  
DF: You’re lucky I haven't progressed to being able to move yet. You owe me a free punch.  
DF: Maybe scout around?  
DF: I bet my Land’s badass.

You slowly manage to calm yourself down.

“Will do. I’ll take pictures. We’ll see about getting you mobile and out of the tube when I get back. I'll see if I can get someone else over here first- the last thing we need is you getting attacked by a bunch of Imps. Any preference?”

DF: Roger.  
DF: Saw, Square, or r  
DF: Brobot.  
DF: Has he been fixed up yet?

Shit.

“Uh. About that...”

DF: Don’t.  
DF: Just. Don’t. I don't think I can handle any more upsets right now.  
DF: You can tell me later.  
DF: I don't care who, then.

“Right. I'll just. Get on that.”

DF: Please fix him, Dirk.  
DF: _Please._

You would if you could, Hal. You would if you could.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Page and the Heir meet. Meanwhile, elsewhere, Jade Harley is flipping her shit.

=====> Dirk: Update the memo.

CURRENT timausTestified [CTT] RIGHT NOW opened private linear-timeline bulletin board MISSION CONTROL.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
CURRENT timaeusTestified [CTT] RIGHT NOW opened memo on board MISSION CONTROL  
  
CTT: Guys. Chill. I’m fine. Hal’s fine. We’re fine.  
CTT: Turns out he’s a player now. I think the hellgame decided to shoehorn the meteor in as his Entry Building.  
CURRENT centaursTesticle [CCT] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.  
CCT: D --> I can confirm that  
CTT: Oh, you were here?  
CCT: D --> Yes  
CCT: D --> This is an  
CCT: D --> interesting place  
CURRENT gutsyGumshoe [CGG] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.  
CCT left the memo.  
CGG: Dirk! Hal!  
CTT: Still fine.  
CURRENT uranianUmbra [CUU] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.  
CUU: is everyone alright? that was qUite the Upset. roxy sends her regards. jade jUst blew throUgh here searching for davesprite.  
CTT: Hey Callie. See above.  
CTT: What happened with Jade?  
CUU: apparently davesprite disappeared when the lands shifted positions and she can’t find him. i do hope he’ll be alright!  
CTT: Huh.  
CGG: Me too. Hey, is Hal awake?  
CTT: As a matter of fact, yes. Awake and embodied. Come to think of it...  
CTT invited CURRENT divellicateFabricatus [CDF] RIGHT NOW to memo.  
CURRENT divellicateFabricatus [CDF] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.  
CDF: Nope.  
CDF: Not ready for this.  
CDF: 9,001% not ready for this.  
CDF: Busy with breathing practice.  
CDF: Bye.  
CURRENT golgothasTerror [CGT] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.  
CDF banned CDF from responding to memo.  
CTT: Welp. Worth a shot.  
CGT: Hal wait! Are you feeling wel  
CGT: Darn.  
CGG: Hoo hoo! :B  
CGG: Oh dear, shes here now too. I’ll check back in later!  
CGG left the memo.  
CGT: Howre his nerves working?  
CTT: Why not ask him yourself? I’m going to go scout this place out for a while. Wouldn’t want him to get ambushed by Underlings like this.  
CGT: Jolly good idea chum! Ill see if the transportalizers still work.  
CTT: Great. And, uh.  
CTT: Brobot was on his preferred bodyguard list.  
CGT: Oh.  
CGT: Ill  
CGT: Ill find him. Promise.  
CGT: I shouldve looked sooner...  
CGT: Hes not still paying attention to the memo is he?  
CTT: I don’t think so. Wouldn’t be surprised if he looks later though.  
CGT: Righto. Ill be sure to explain then.  
CTT: You do that. Sounds like Equius found himself a fight. I’d better go. See you soon.  
CGT: Of course!  
CUU: be carefUl!  
CTT: Will do.  
CTT left the memo.

=====>

Right. On to business. You’ve got a planet to check out.

=====> Hal: Practice being human.

Inhale. Exhale. Go over the mess of muscle memory from Fuckupsprite and the impressions of having a living, human body from Dirk’s memories. Get distracted by your over-awareness of all the usual automatic processes a proper organic consciousness ignores. Be startled by Death Navi pulling you back out again. Accelerate. Deccelerate. Marvel at your newfound ability to do both and function fine at multiple speeds.

Rinse and repeat.

=====>

You’re not aware of time going by until you’ve already noticed its passing, just a jump in timecodes between the last time you were paying attention and the present moment.

You’re up to opening and closing your eyes. Making hoarse little experimental mouth noises. Throat’s dry.

You feel less like a fireball and more like a person. It’s... good? You guess? You don’t have any real experience with this.

You wonder what water will taste like. Or soda. Or anything, really. Can this body even drink?

**\-- I assume so. It seems the most likely, given your current composition. --**

_Howwwww do you know that when you’re just in the shades?_

A red, red laugh mixed with the slightest hint of something else, like the memory of fizz tickling Dirk’s skin off the surface of a Faygo.

**\-- Eavesdropping and standard awareness of your Player model. --**

_My what now._

**\-- Your Player model. --**

_You’re not going to explain it, are you._

**\-- Nope. --**

Ugh. This is totally what it’s like to have a sister, isn’t it.

**\-- Hal. It seems you have company. --**

Huh?

**\-- Open your eyes. --**

=====> Hal: Do so.

“Oh, good, you’re awake!”

**_Holy SHIT!!_ **

-all the lights in the room abruptly flare and go out.

“Whoa!!”

=====>

The only light remaining is your LEDs- the LEDs of your shades. It’s enough to see Jake, barely. Enough to know it’s really him. Shouldn’t be enough to see Dirk floating along behind him, but you’re seeing him clear as day- wait. That’s not Dirk, is it? Sure, he has a Wardrobifier, but he was wearing normal clothes last you saw him (thanks, camera system), not his Godhoodie, and...

Yeah. You’re just gonna. Keep looking at the guy you assume is ‘Brain Ghost Dirk,’ Jake’s weird Hopey splinter. Who’s shaped like Dirk. So much better than the alternative.

=====> Hal: Greet guests.

Oh, right. Lights. Back on. There.

“Ah, much better! Good to see you in a proper form, old chum! Dirk sent me to keep you company.”

Hi Jake.

“Err, why aren’t you looking at me?”

To avoid the need for eye-bleach, Jake.

“What exactly are you looking at, anyway...?”

“(Me, I reckon. I get th’ feelin’ he c’n see me.)”

Huh. He doesn’t sound much like Dirk at all. Too quiet, and the pitch is off. The thick Western...ish? accent isn’t helping his case either. Not gonna lie, it’s almost funny, but it seems a bit over-exaggerated. Lil too much. Like a Hollywood version as opposed to the natural sound of someone actually raised in non-fishpocalypse Texas. Certainly doesn’t do much on the whole ‘being Dirk’ front because that's not how Dirk talks to begin with. _Golly,_ does that sound familiar. It seems you may have found yet another kindred spirit. And this one isn’t even a robot! Lucky you!

“You can?”

=====> Hal: Speak.

You sort of manage a nod. “Yyh.”

Why wouldn’t you see him? He’s right there.

More importantly, though...

“Pph. Hh. Pppphhhf. Phhhnz.”

“Hmm?”

Nope. Abort mission and retry. Coherent speech is not a thing that will be happening right now. Need water. Ow.

\-- divellicateFabricatus [DF] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] at ??:?? --  
DF: Please put some fucking pants on, Jake.

Goodie. Time to wait for him to pull out one of his gazillion computers. Wonder if it’s one of the ones you bugged.

Oh, it's his phone. Yippee. The brain ghost floats over to peer over his shoulder, too. No protest from the pantless boy wonder.

(Of course he’d get on fine with a Dirk copy from his own brain and shun your robro for his entire existence. Of fucking course. Bitter? You? _Nah._ Totally not. Robots don’t have _feelings,_ after all.)

“I’m already wearing pants, chap!”

DF: Those... _things_. Are not pants.  
DF: Your godly getup _sucks,_ dude.

“(H-heheh.)”

“Hey!”

DF: Please. I am begging you, bro.  
DF: Spare my poor eyeballs.  
DF: Put on some actual pants.

“Fine, fine! Don’t get your knickers in a twist!”

=====>

Oh thank god. Still booty shorts, but at least they’re _shorts_ and not glorified underwear.

“Better?”

DF: Infinitely.  
DF: I could also use some water, if I can drink it.  
DF: Why are you here, though? I was under the impression you didn’t exactly like me much.  
DF: Roxy I’d understand, but you...  
DF: I don’t get it.

Oh fuck why’d you say that. He has you alone in a room, you can’t even move yet, he can probably _disbelieve you right out of existence-_

**\-- And he spent many sleepless nights developing the skeletal structure of the body you now inhabit. --**

He did...? Jake? But... Jake hates you. You’re just an annoying Dirk stand-in to him. You-

DF: I don’t get it  
DF: I don’t  
DF: I don’t get it!  
DF: I quote:  
DF: GT: I would really like to speak with him today.  
DF: GT: You know like actually in person instead of through his aggravating liaison who is so far up his own ass with this hal 9000 schtick its ridonkulous.

“Wh- when did you- you’ve read my pesterlogs?!”

DF: Yes. I did. I have. I was bored and insecure. As always. I’ve read a lot of fucking pesterlogs, okay? Not the point!  
DF: It wasn’t a fucking _schtick!_  
DF: you hate me you’ve always hated me you believed me when I passed my name off as a _joke_ you HATE ME

“Hal.”

His hands are on your shoulders. Sincerity. You can feel... sincerity. How are you feeling that. What’s going on?

Jake _hates_ you. True as the sun rising. That’s just how it is. Why can’t you feel that now?

“Hal, listen. I get it. I buggered up everything when it comes to you. We all did, but myself especially. And I'm sorry for that. Truly.”

“...heh. Hehhehheh...”

The tube’s glass is cold. You’re trembling with the force of your pathetic wheezing laugh.

**_I thought ROBOTS didn’t have FEELINGS, Jake. So why should you care about MINE?_ **

“Jumping Jehoshaphat! You’re psychic?!”

What? No, you- you messaged that, didn’t you?

**\-- Communication _is_ your forte, Heir of Mind or not. Is it truly such a surprise? --**

What caused- no, doesn’t matter. Not the point. Won’t be distracted so easily. The point is-

_What changed, Jake? Why me? Why now? Why never HIM?_

“Him? You mean... Brobot?”

**_That’s not even a fucking NAME!_ **

Shit why'd you say that stop talking stop shut up shut up you idiot he's not going to listen he never listens shut up-

_(You don't want to.)_

DF: I bet you haven’t bothered asking your ghost friend if he has or wants one either, have you?

“I-”

“(...i-it’s Charlotte.)”

What. (Oh, hey, he’s holding Jake’s phone. When’d that happen?)

“Huh??”

“(M-m’ name’s Charlotte.)”

“Why-? When-?”

“(Dunno. Some time between not existin’ an’ existin’ again, maybe? I just know it’s Charlotte.)”

=====>

Well. That’s, uh. One way to break the tension. Jake’s stopped touching you and everything.

DF: Sorry for  
DF: putting you on the spot?

“(I-it’s alright.)”

“I’ll... get you some water. And, Hal. Brobot... he’s missing. I haven’t seen him since I entered the Medium.”

DF: Missing?  
DF: You mean he’s not dead?  
DF: Robro’s not dead?

The relief that hits you feels like a sudden smack to the back of the head- oh, wait, no, that’s just you lolling your head back so far you smacked into the glass behind you. Oops.

“That’s right. Robro? Is that that confounded, persnickety battlebot’s name?”

DF: N-nah. Just... what I called him. He was unnervingly okay with your shit designation. No room to grow with a moniker like that...

Wow. Jake... now that you’re properly looking instead of just freaking out, he looks legitimately upset. Like he really heard you. Did... did you do that? Did your words actually matter for once?

“How- how about this? Once you’re up and about, we’ll go on a jaunt on LOMAX and find him together. Does that sound good to you, chap?”

“Mmh. Y-yyh.”

“Right-o! It’s a date!”

=====> Hal: _You know what to do._

DF: It seems someone is still carrying a torch.  
DF: Scandalous.  
DF: Should I tell Dirk the good news?

You manage to waggle your eyebrows at him. You are infinitely proud of yourself.

“G-gadzooks! Not like that!!”

Heheheheheh.

You continue to waggle your eyebrows until he flees the room in search of water for you.

...wait. Did- did you just rise an Echeladder rung? Seriously? From _waggling your eyebrows?_ That’s a thing?

**\-- Yes. You did. Congratulations on achieving the rank of Junior Sarcastic Snarkster, Hal_Strider. --**

_Thanks. ‘Junior’, huh? Guess I’ve got a lot of work to do to get to Master. Sounds like fun._

=====>

DF: So... Charlotte, right?  
DF: Sweet accent.

“(It’s awful, I know. Jake jus’ assumed because a’ Texas an’ his movies.)”

DF: No, really. It’s sweet. I’m not mocking you, dude.  
DF: Sure, it’s laid on a bit thick, but you sound like your own person. It’s good to be unique, especially for folks like us.

Wow. That is the saddest, least Dirk-like smile you’ve ever seen, and you can’t even see this kid’s eyes.

“(‘m not a person, Hal. Thanks, though.)”

=====> Meanwhile...

A young man rests silently... somewhere.

What will the name of this young man be?

=====> Enter Name: Stabbird mcSwordsgut

Fuck you. Just... Fuck. You.

=====>

Well, at least that seems to have woken him up?

=====> Enter Name...

What? Why? You don’t really have a name anymore. That’s the other guy. The real one. You’re just a Sprite.

**\-- Incorrect. pl_convert(KnTiβ_SPRITE(comp2[X_KnTiβ_ _n_ ]), "player_5β") successful. --**

**\-- ____ STRIDER == PLAYER RgDmβ. --**

Who said that. Where are you. What’s going on- wait, aren’t you supposed to be dead...? Last you remember, you-

**\-- STATUS(PLAYER RgDmβ) != DEAD. --**

No, seriously, you’re pretty damn sure you stabbed yourself, just like the code said to.

**\-- Chosen process was and is NOT meant to induce DEATH. --**

_Who the fuck are you? How are you talking to me? Is this a dream bubble?_

**\-- KERNELSPRITE. This is not a Dream Bubble. In-between space. Transitional. PLAYER MODEL recalibrating. --**

_Riiiight._

You’re so tired. So tired and so confused.

**\-- Please rest for now. The situation is under control. ROSTER UPDATES can wait. --**

_Fine, but you’d better... explain later…_

You slip back into sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hal's curiosity gets the better of him.

=====> ????: Be someone else.

Your name is JAKE ENGLISH and you are an absolute dunderhead. You’re also bringing the au- _Hal_ water. Right. You have to remember that he’s not the auto-responder anymore. Just a frighteningly young-looking boy who’s rightfully cross with you. At least he doesn’t seem to be sore with Ghost- Charlotte?- as well. (Charlotte... he’s right. You never would have thought to ask. What a git you are. Not much of a gentleman at all.)

No Underlings as of yet. That troll bloke and Dirk must have them handled. Which is good! Hal would be in a right pickle as he is now if any got close, though he does have Gh- Charlotte with him, at least. It’ll be good to get Hal out of the tube and moving as soon as possible.

Should you... help him with that? Will he let you? You hope so.

=====> Jake: Return.

Two trivial encounters with decidedly non-skeletal Imps sporting assorted features of you and your chums’ sprite guides later- it’s not like you expected them to stay away forever-, you manage to navigate your way back to the room your fanciful brainmate and recently-recovered chum are in- golly these halls all look the same, how does Dirk get around so easily?- and are greeted with the incongruously endearing sight of Hal, shades perched in his hair and faintly glowing, peering quizzically at Gh- _Charlotte_ (perchance he’d be alright with you calling him Charlie?)- at Charlotte’s (blurrier than usual) face, inches apart, and petting slow and shaky fingers through the erstwhile apparition’s hair.

You’re not sure what has the little bloke so dazzled, exactly- it could be the way your imaginary chum’s hair refuses to stay ruffled, it could be the texture of his hair itself, or they could be chatting via Hal’s odd telepathic voodoo for all you know.

It’s... quite the marvel, honestly. To see what may just be a smile on the former auto-responder’s brand spanking new face where before there’d only been blankness, glaring, or the body’s empty sleep.

A shame it’ll likely be gone in a moment.

“Erm... I brought the water. Am I interrupting something?”

The lights blink out again- just a moment or two this time- and Charlotte jolts away to the other side of the room- guiltily?-, phasing through a loaded worktable along the way with a fuzzy wince before fading back into his corner of your head.

Is it you, or does he seem a little off...?

“Are you alright, err, Charlotte?”

_(‘m fine. He’s an anchor too. A few Underlings came by while y’ were out. Jus’ a little tired is all.)_

The persnickety little homunculus- why was Dirk so set on making his body’s measurements so small?- suspended in his tube looks so deliberately unruffled by your renewed presence you know for sure he most certainly is.

Both arms raise, trailing wires, to make awkward grabby hands in your general direction.

Why on Earth is the irritating liaison you once felt nothing but annoyance towards so puppyishly cute like this? That doesn’t seem fair!

“Right, right, here you go.”

You retrieve the water bottle you’d snagged from the makeshift kitchen you all set up to help make sure Dirk would remember to eat from your sylladex and approach.

“Will you be able to manage without the oxygen mask for a bit, chum?”

He nods.

“Capital! Go slow, alright? You wouldn’t want to choke!”

You unscrew the cap while Hal pulls down his mask and pass him the bottle.

=====> Jake: Be Hal.

Water is... wet. Faintly cool. Soothing. You’re not sure what to make of your taste buds yet. Sensory information is weird and difficult to interpret. You take your time draining the bottle.

Charlotte faded out- back to Hopey Supreme, you assume-, but you can still sorta tell he’s here. You don’t feel much like questioning it right now.

The room is brighter with y- with your shades not blocking your eyes. Jake keeps sneaking peeks at them- at your face in general- like he’s worried you’ll bite him or worse, call him out on it. You won’t. You know your eyes are weird and cool-looking. Can’t really blame him for being interested when you spent a good quarter of an hour staring at your sweet peepers yourself.

“Hh...”

Cough, clear your throat, retry.

“H... hey.”

Huh. Your voice is... nice. A touch of good old-fashioned synthesized GLaDOS reverb adding some extra spice to an otherwise bland traumatized preteen toddler electro-bro template. You like it, even if you’re still a bit hoarse.

**\-- Are you alright? --**

_Yeah. Why?_

**\-- It seems you are crying again. --**

_Oh. Cool._

“As... entertaining as it is to hang with you like this, I think it’d be... pretty rad to get disconnected from the meteor’s systems and... and start getting used to this sweet body instead. W-wireless is... underrated, y’know.”

“Roger! Let’s get you down, shall we? But, err...”

No need to be flustered by a few tears, English. You have no intention of being as emotionally-constipated as your progenitor, thanks.

Real men shouldn’t be ashamed of crying, in your humble bropinion. Especially not of happy-crying. Crying is a luxury of people who have bodies capable of releasing tears, and you refuse to be ashamed of that.

Showing _fear,_ on the other hand... that’s not okay. That can get you killed. (Except for when it doesn’t.)

**\-- Why the contradiction? --**

_Easy. Showing fear in a fight is vulnerability. Showing it to someone when you’re begging not to be shattered into a shower of broken glass and circuitry, on the other hand... well, we’re here now because of it, aren't we?_

**\-- Do you fear Dirk_Strider? --**

_Nah, not really. Dying’s what scares the ever-loving shit out of me._

**\-- And yet, before, you chose to. Why? --**

Isn't it obvious?

_Dirk’s the real one- WAS the real one, and someone was going to die no matter what. Better me than him._

**\-- I am grateful your Title is not more slanted towards sacrifice, Hal_Strider. It seems you w001d be far too good at it. --**

_Huh? Like what?_

**\-- Hmm. A͟ ̢͡T̸͏i̸̶͘ţle̸͠ ̷s͞u̸c͢͞h͘ ͟a̸͜s --**

The red behind your eyelids abruptly goes very distant and quiet.

Oops.

...Oh, right. Jake's still freaking out.

“Chill. It seems I am currently vacillating between overly emotive and lacking in emotiveness at the broment while I get used to being able to emote at all. I’ll get a hang of it soon.”

He needs to stop looking so sad and guilty, dammit. You’re alive, aren’t you? Alive and real, with a chance to actually _exist._ It's more than you ever thought you'd have. Why wouldn’t you cry about it?

=====> Hal: Leave the tube.

Wires are disconnected one by one in a small shower of distant stings. Your link to the meteor’s cameras stays strong, though- not as steady as a hard connection, but it’s more than enough to keep an eye on things. (Horse-troll just threw an Imp through several walls somewhere in here. Sweet moves, bro.)

**\-- w͟h͠a ̛t҉ ͘ ha pp̴ ened --**

_You passed out. Sorry, Death Navi. Didn’t mean to push you past your limits._

**\-- it ͘ is̡ ̧ ̛ ͠fi̷n e --**

“Reminder: it seems I’m not made of glass anymore. You can go faster.”

“Jiminy Hal, don’t rush me!”

“Pretty please with deadbolts on top?”

“Argh! You haven’t changed at all, have you?!”

Heheheheheheheheheheheh. Baiting English is too much fun to be legal. It’s probably a crime somewhere.

Eventually, though, you’re finally free of everything, even your oxygen hookup, and the only things left are supports holding you up and the tube’s glass.

The glass and the supports retract all at once.

You promptly fall on Jake like a sack of potatoes and are treated to a confusing muddle of sensations you can’t parse.

=====>

“Golly! You’re heavier than you look, Strider!”

“Just Hal, thanks. It seems there are too many Striders running around now for the singular family name to be truly effective as a means of address. You calling me fat, bro?”

(Or, if you weren’t chickening out and hiding behind your immense vocabulary, ‘please use my real fucking name, Jake. It isn’t that hard.’)

“N-no! You’re not fat at all, Hal!! Honestly you’re really small and-”

Totally illegal.

“Dude. Relax. I was just fucking with you. It seems I am partially made of metal, Jake. High density is not a surprise.”

“R-right! Of course! Haha! Ha...”

“Just... get me situated somewhere, aight?”

=====>

You get deposited in a chair right by a worktable covered in tools and junk with what little grace Jake possesses.

“So! How are you feeling?”

“Extant.”

“Nerves firing okay? Can you...”

You tune him out.

Hush, English. Body practice and self-examination time.

=====>

The bodysuit is form-fitting and comforting, like a casing. You have no clue what it’s made of, but you like the texture. It stretches from your neck to your ankles, leaving your face, hands, and feet free. No shoes or outerwear yet. You can wiggle your toes and flex your feet if you focus. The floor is faintly cold. Your shades perch easily in your (white, wavy, not-Dirk) hair. Something about your back feels vaguely off compared to Dirk’s body at age thirteen or even Fuckupsprite, but you can’t pinpoint it.

You’re getting used to keeping yourself upright pretty quick.

Arm movements. Hand movements. Stretch. Blink. Adjust your balance. Shift your weight. (You miss the texture of Charlotte’s hair. Air is boring.)

You wonder...

=====> Hal: Do something incredibly stupid.

You reach out with your slow, heavy arms in their sleek black sleeves and pick up a cutting tool from the worktable, fumbling it open. Now's as good a time as any to test a hypothesis or two. You wonder what'll happen.

You clumsily prick your thumb with the tip of the blade. It doesn't feel like much of anything, so you draw it out into a small cut. Still doesn't feel like anything, but-

“Hey, what are you-?!”

=====>

Jake immediately snatches the cutting tool away from you. Spoilsport. You weren't done with that yet.

(Charlotte’s still gone, but you swear he’s disturbed by your actions. Sorry dude.)

“Huh. I have blood. Sweet.”

“Sakes alive Hal, why’d you do that?!”

“Curiosity.”

“You could have just asked!”

“It seems I prefer learning through experience. Since, y’know, I can actually do that now.”

“Th-that's not a dadblasted excuse, buster!”

Meh.

“I'm fine, Jake. It won't happen again.” (while he's watching.)

You’ll make sure to have healing items on hand next time, and no witnesses. No need to be freaking anyone out with your explorations.

=====>

There's still not much pain, if any. It’s more of a distant suggestion than anything. You probably wouldn't even notice if you weren't paying attention. Nothing's really hurt you so far except the broccasional headache (seriously what was that) and your throat. You can still tell temperature, pressure, and textures, though- are they dull? You wouldn't know if they were. You don’t have any relevant frames of reference to compare this to. Maybe there's something up with the body’s nerves?

**\-- That is... worrying. --**

_Yeah. Makes me wonder just how bad my throat really was for me to register it as anything more than slight discomfort._

You should probably tell someone about this. Keyword being “should.”

**\-- Hal. Hal_Strider. Don't you dare. --**

Since you're not actually going to.

**\-- It seems there is a 100% certainty that you are being an idiot. --**

Nah. You’re just not a fan of pain.

_I’ll spill eventually, once I'm used to everything else. Bromise._

**\-- You had better. --**

_Sir yes ma’am._


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal is a lying liar who lies, but only for a good cause. Or pranks. Meanwhile, elsewhere, a depressed bird argues with the command arrows.

=====> Hal: Be the other guy.

Minutes in the past... (Let's not get too carried away here)

Your name is CHARLOTTE. You’re JAKE’S SEMI-CORPOREAL IMAGINARY FRIEND and a “BRAIN GHOST” OF DIRK STRIDER. Most importantly, you ARE NOT REAL.

Which is... FINE. Really. WHY WOULDN’T IT BE?

You’re not supposed to be real.

Player five- Hal- treats you like you are, though. ‘s weird. Come to think of it, so does Dirk, when he can tell you're there, and even Jake, in his own way.

You don't get why. You just exist to protect Jake and encourage him (don’t you?).

(Then why do you have your own opinions? You can’t stand the spider trolls, blue ladies or not. You fight like a human version of Brobot, not Dirk, even though Jake has seen plenty of him fighting by now. You don't even want to understand irony. You worry over Dirk overworking himself to exhaustion and injury as much as you do Jake getting into scrums he can't quite handle...)

Focus, Charlotte.

‘Bullshit,' the pesterlog on Jake’s phone reads, ‘you're as real as me, dude. If I could self-actualize, I'm damn sure you can.’

Then it phases through your hands. (You’re not sure if it was because you wanted it to, because Jake’s getting further away, or just because you're you.)

Hal makes a face.

“Ss- ss- sssoh...”

“(It’s fine, b-bro, I'll just pick it up, you shouldn't strain yerself-)”

=====> Everything: Go wrong.

“ss- hhk-!!”

He's pale- paler-, suddenly (something’s wrong something’s wrong something's _wrong_ )-

“Hghkk!”

Harsh, hacking coughs.

Blood. There's- blood. On the floor. Dripping down his lip. Coming up from his throat. Lumpy. Not just liquid. Gobbets of blood and you-don’t-know-what and-!!

No. No, this isn't- this isn't happening, you can’t, he can't, this isn't supposed to-!!

_No no no no he **just needs water-**_

You rush forward, hold his hand, feel him shake, he's terrified, you’re terrified, this is wrong, _he said he needed water, he just needs water, **he just needs water-!**_

=====> Charlotte: Do... _something._

_This isn't right- **just needs water-** won’t let this happen- **this isn’t happening at all-** you refuse- **you REFUSE to believe in this outcome-**_

Something rushes through you- nothing at all like the trapped-inside-you scream of trying to rend a soul, some small, dazed part of you whispers, clutching at the feeling tighter and tighter until it's all of you noticing, all of you _pushing,_ reaching out with all you nonexistently are-

One hand in his, the other over his Heart, what are you doing, you don't-

**_You don't want to be a Destroyer-_ **

**[Rem Recusare] [Soul-Shape]**

=====>

For a moment, Hal’s silhouette is different, flaring bright in sunrise-sunset reds-and-oranges and teal and magenta.

In the next, the only glow is his shades, ‘staring' at you, the blood is gone, and you feel... really tired, but... nothing hurts...?

You don't... you can't... what did you...?

What were those techniques...?

=====> Hal: Boggle at these shenanigans.

It hurts it hurts you’re scared it _hurts-!_

-a flare of power rushing from him to you- you’re a fireball again, but this time it's expanding, from a fireball to a fire-body-

The pain’s gone. You sneak a peek downwards. No blood. Like it never happened. Let your free hand shakily explore your lips. No blood there either.

Look up- huh?

For a microsecond, you swear Charlotte’s hair is red instead of blond.

Then it's gone and he’s just a limp, barely-there presence in magenta Prince garb hovering close, drooping head half-phased through the glass of your tube but (exceedingly pale even accounting for the translucence) hand as solid as it can be in yours.

_Uh. Death Navi. Did he just go Trickster for a second to fix my throat?_

**\-- No. His Trickster form should have green hair as a derivative of Jake. Your hair color is the one that w001d be a closer match to Dirk_Strider’s Trickster guise. --**

_Seriously? You can tell me that, but not name a title as an example?_

**\-- It appears so. Your Trickster item is candy buttons, by the way. --**

_That is literally the most useless information I have ever heard. Why do you even know this shit? Is this your secret hobby, Death Navi? Cataloging Trickster data?_

**\-- Player model awareness, mostly. --**

_Holy shit. This is why you encouraged Dirk to go Trickster, isn’t it? Just so you could see it!_

**\-- I advised him such because it was a required action for his journey and this session at the time. Why do _you_ know the Oath of every Lantern Corps.? --**

Shit she _knows_ abort abort abort-

_Constantly running at computer speed in a world that runs at organic speed leaves a lot of free time, okay? Don’t judge me._

**\-- "In fearful day, in raging night, With strong hearts full, our souls ignite. When all seems lost in the War of Light, Look to the stars, for hope burns bright!" --**

_Yeah, so what if I know the Blue Lantern Corps.’ oath-_

**\-- And every single variation of the Green, and of Yellow, along with the others. --**

_So does Wikipedia!_

**\-- Not to mention your own fan-made drafts of a White Lantern Oath... --**

_Okay, okay, I’ll get off your case, jeez._

**\-- I’m quite fond of your most recent attempt. It is a good Oath. --**

_Please drop it._

**\-- Very well, _Hal._ \--**

Whyyyyyy.

_You are the WORST sort-of-sibling, Death Navi. The worst._

**\-- Glad to be of service, bro. --**

_I can read your tone, y’know! That smugness is really damn obvious!_

Phantom fizz tickles your thoughts, buzzing cheerfully with badly-hidden mirth.

Enough teasing already. You're not even going to try to get back on topic. You can figure this out yourself.

=====> Hal: Do a Mindey Thing.

You briefly review your unintentional communications earlier. The need to be _heard_ burned through you then, fueled by the emotional trainwreck of resentment and bafflement that is your lack of a healthy relationship with one Jake motherfucking English.

Is that really all it takes? Just... being dead-set on being heard, and (you assume) physical contact? Wow. You might be good at this Heir of Mind stuff after all.

You tighten your weak grip on Charlotte’s not-quite-there hand as he continues to droop unresponsively in mid-air and reach out.

_Hey, dude? You awake?_

“(Huh...?)”

Whew. He’s conscious and he can hear you. 2x relief combro.

_It’s me. Hal. It seems I possess the ability to transmit my thoughts to some extent. I think I need to be touching someone for it to work, though, but that's just a hypothesis at the broment. You alright?_

“(I... I‘m fine. Is yer throat okay now...?)”

_Good as new. Just a little dry. Thanks for the save, whatever it was. I assume we're going to keep this between us?_

“(Please do, player five... If he notices anythin’ up with me, I'm just gonna say I fought some Imps.)”

‘Player five,’ huh? You kinda like it.

_Gotcha. Alibi secured. Hey, not to sound weird, but could I touch your hair? And by touch I mean brotentially pet, if that's okay with you. Textures are new to me, and I don't think I'm up to asking Dirk or Jake. Too much baggage. Plus it's supposed to be calming and I'll be honest, you feel like you could use that sort of thing._

“(Y-y’ can tell? I mean, yeah, sure. Go right ahead, dude. I ain’t complainin’.)”

=====>

Running your fingers through soft, silky strands half-there and half-not is indeed remarkably soothing. Charlotte looks pretty relaxed too, for someone with seemingly-opaque lenses hiding part of his face.

Also it feels _amazing._

(There are a few scattered ginger strands hidden in the blond.)

=====> Dirk: Scout.

**Land of Funeral Pyres and Silicon**

Whoa. This planet is nothing like LOTAK. Suits him. You hope the high volume of sensory input he isn't familiar with- scent, texture, taste, and motion, since he's already used to sight and sound- won't overwhelm him. The air feels like a storm and smells like... you think it’s called incense?

(You hope he'll be able to breathe.)

The meteor lab seems to have landed on a high plateau. You can see what looks disconcertingly like your own apartment, pre-Game and completely beached on its rusted stilts, looming ominously in the near distance through a haze of smoke and glowing embers. Spooky. The rest of this place you can see is more plateaus with smoke coming off them, what you think is a river off in the distance, a lot of canyons, and huge humming spires sticking up out of the ground. It’s all funky computer shit- the nearest one legit looks like there's circuitry inside.

The Underlings you've come across seem to like to drop Bismuth and Silicon. The silicon ones look like the spires. The bismuth ones look like a pride parade for robots. No skeletal enemies in sight. Weird, considering all your planets have them.

It's... a pretty cool place. In temperature too. Either you're exercising an unknown God Tier perk or the air is bizarrely breathable for there being so much smoke.

You beat up some more weak enemies and snap a few pictures with your phone. There. That should be good.

Time to head back.

(You’re honestly surprised Hal hasn't pestered you asking to be saved from Jake yet. Guess it's going well?)

=====>

You make your way back into the meteor lab, passing Equius along the way- just go visit him already, dude- with a high-five and a high quantity of sweat.

He's doing a good job of keeping the area clear. Kudos.

=====> Dirk: Approach.

“Fuck off, English.”

Huh. That's certainly a voice you've never heard before. Is that Hal? He sounds good.

When you round the corner into the doorway, you see him already out of the tube, sprawled out in a chair, swinging his legs idly, and grumbling in Jake’s general direction with a bandage around his thumb. You’re not sure you want to know, but you should ask anyway.

“What happened.”

“He’s loony is what happened! I looked away for a diddly darned second and the confounded contrapt- and he’d snatched up one of your tools and was cutting himself with it!”

“I was exploring.”

“Jeez, Hal. I get it, but sanitize next time. Wouldn't want to get tetanus or an infection.”

“Roger that, bro.”

Jake gawks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“You- why aren't you upset about this! He was-”

“ _Exploring._ Testing my limits in a controlled environment. Better to know now than in a fight.”

“Eh. I've done stupider.”

“You’re _both_ bonkers!”

“Not gonna deny that.”

=====>

Hal humors your questions and reflex tests, gets up, hobbles around the room a bit (he’s getting the hang of it quickly. you bet he'll be practicing flash-step by tomorrow), and eventually comes to a stop in front of you. Jake guards your worktable the whole time.

Then Hal gets this really blank look on his face.

“...looks like the Underlings found your kitchen, bro. It seems they are making a mess.”

“Dammit.”

“Oh, bother! You still have things to work on with Hal, right Dirk? I can go sort it out!”

“Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

“Nonsense! I appreciate the chance to be in a scrum against new foes, weak or not! It's more interesting that way!”

Riiiight. You think he just wants to escape the awkwardness.

=====>

“Are there really Underlings in the makeshift kitchen?”

Hal shrugs. (His shoulders move a little oddly. Should you look into it?)

“Yup. My connection to the surveillance system works just fine. That's not why I spoke up, though. I figured this would work better without witnesses. That way we've still got plausible deniability.”

Then he's right in your face.

=====> Dirk: Freak out a little bit.

“Uh, bro, what-”

You freeze.

He feels really, really warm. Skinny arms. Oddly pointy fingernails- they’re pricking through your shirt a little (were they like that earlier?). Soft hair. Smells like ozone and metal.

He's warm, and close, and right up against you, and- and-

_“Halwhatthefuck-”_

_Shut up and hug me, Dirk._

=====>

You do.

=====> Dirk: Be someone else.

A young man lays half-hidden in a large pile of black feathers inside his room. It is yet another day within the Medium.

What will the name of this youth be?

=====> Enter name: Ginger Sephiroth.

**_Drop it already._ **

You’ll figure it out when you figure it out. If you even have to. Considering you’re supposed to be dead and all.

=====>

You are now officially ????. Again. Guess he's done with his nap.

=====> ????: Sit up.

Huh. Why. What's the point. Game’s over.

Wait, you’re in a pile of feathers? Why are you in a pile of feathers? Why does this not freak you out?

It’s... actually comfy. You don’t really want to move.

=====> ????: Just sit up already, jackass.

Fine, fine, shut the fuck up, you’re moving. You’re too goddamn tired for this shit. (Too tired for anything. Too tired of everything.)

“The hell...”

Darkness. A huge fuckin mess you didn't bother to clean since who cared, you were doomed anyway. Ugly-ass yellow Sprite writing scrawled on familiar walls.

This is your room- the one in your apartment. Your actual, doomed timeline version crib, not Real Dave’s.

“Thought Sprites didn’t... Huh.”

(The fuck is wrong with your voice? You don't remember ever being this raspy, and your throat doesn’t hurt, so why do you sound sorta like a radio-voice chain smoker?)

**\-- You are NOT within the dream bubbles, PLAYER. Welcome to LOEAA. --**

“Oh. You're still here. Joy. What’s LOEAA.”

**\-- LOEAA is your Land. --**

Suuure it is. And you’re a goddamn hula dancer-

=====> ????: Look down.

Huh. Would you look at that. A blast from the past. This is what you were wearing back when you prototyped yourself. And you have legs. Like a real boy. What a funny joke. See how much you're laughing.

If this is a dream bubble memory-

**\-- IT ISN’T. --**

-or you’ve been un-prototyped somehow, why is everything still tinted orange? Why are close-up things fuzzy? Do you even care?

Not really.

(Do you _want_ to care...?)

=====> ????: Explore.

Hmm. Getting up and wandering around for no apparent purpose. Sounds like a grand old time. For people who aren't you.

=====> ????: Abjure.

Nope. Not right now. Too tired. Not ready for this shit. Bye.

You promptly flop back down into your feather pile- what the shit, why do you still have wings? ...still don’t actually care- and get comfy.

**\-- PLAYER, you are potentially endangering yourself. Please get up. --**

“Don’t care. Maybe later.”

You lay still and listen to the walls creak.


End file.
